


Until You Remember

by Throwthemflowers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Amnesia, Debussy, Engaged Harry, M/M, Mayor taylor swift, Pianist Louis, Teacher Louis, coastal small town, mythic elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Throwthemflowers/pseuds/Throwthemflowers
Summary: Harry lowered his head a moment, then whispered, “It hurts, Lou. If you kissed me, it wouldn’t hurt so much.”Louis set his mug down with a clink on the coffee table. “What wouldn’t hurt so much?”Harry closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”“Fooking bloody hell…” Louis cursed under his breath as he brought his hands to his face and rubbed roughly over his cheekbones. “Harry, do you know what… what…”“What is wrong with me?” Harry finished in a soft, small voice.Louis’s heart dissolved into a mass of pulsing shame. He pulled the man to him and gently pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead.“There’s nothing wrong with you, Harry. You’re kind and sweet and good, and I don’t understand you at all, and I don’t know if I ever will, but there’s nothing wrong with you, darling. Nothing at all.” Louis breathed in his scent, swallowing hard.--Talented London pianist Louis Tomlinson moves to a small coastal town to escape the elites of his job and the mundanity of his life. Through the music of Debussy he finds a charming, wonderful friend in Harry Styles, the fiancé of the town's mayor. Louis thinks his pining is in vain until he discovers that all may not be as it seems....





	Until You Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Erm, apologies if Britain doesn't have school boards or mayors? Consider it an AU in more ways than one. I wrote the first draft of this in one sitting after being hit with the inspiration during a Debussy rehearsal... Anyway, there's smut, mystery, and a surprise ending (though I've left ample hints) Love to all, and hope you enjoy

Louis tugged his jacket tighter around his belly. He’d driven in during the sunset, right when a soft golden glow had shimmered across the cove, gilding him with hope. Now the sky bore down dark and empty and cold all around him. The air smelled of fish and sea, and he almost regretted everything. Slamming his car door, he cursed Niall to seven levels of Irish hell and hurried inside the dark pub before a wet sea wind could drench him. 

“Tommo!” And just like that Niall enveloped Louis in a hefty hug.

“You made it! Good drive up, mate?”

“Bloody awful, you prick.” But Louis smiled despite himself. “What’ve you got me into, eh?” 

“Got you into? Only the best teaching job of the century, away from the dregs of London and those awful elitists!” Niall winked at him, thumping his back heartily. “Come on, sit down and have a drink, you’ll feel loads better.” 

Louis side-eyed Niall, taking in the mostly empty but otherwise warm and welcoming pub. The tables were dark hardwood, each a heavy, sturdy piece of furniture, and it all felt very homey and comforting and _Niall_. 

“Well this place isn’t so bad,” Louis shook his head unbelievingly, “Never thought you’d actually make it work if I’m honest.” 

“Thanks for your vote of confidence,” Niall laughed, pouring Louis a dark beer. “You know, sometimes I thought that too. But I made the right choice, and I love it here, really I do.”

“I still say it’s weird as shit for your old boss to leave a fooking pub to you in his will.” 

“Cheers to that,” Niall clinked his glass against Louis’ and they both took a foamy mouthful. 

“Can’t wait for you to meet everyone. You’ll like this place, I promise.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Louis downed the beer in two more gulps and felt only a bit less damp.

*

Niall eventually showed him up to the apartment, an ancient two-bedroom unit he’d had been renovating for the last six months. If Louis were honest, he couldn’t much tell. He got dirt-cheap rent as a tradeoff, however, and the convenience of living next to one of his best friends—not to mention within thirty feet of endless beer—so he’d agreed to the apartment. Niall helped carry in several loads from Louis’ car—clothes and plates and a few dishcloths his grandmum had crocheted—but even with the personal touches that his throw blanket and pillows provided, Louis felt a sharp pang of homesickness. 

Still, he knew leaving had been the right choice. His mum was happily married, his siblings were doing successful things in their own right, and he’d been sick of London and sick of predictable mundane life and sick of working for rich, snobbish pricks for as long as he could remember. When Niall had told him about a music teacher opening at the small secondary school near his pub, Louis had thought why not give it a go? He doubted that impulse a bit now, as the surf crashed against the rocky cove, echoing metronomically down the cobblestone streets. Louis felt more claustrophobic than he ever had in his life. 

He spent the next few days getting acquainted with the small town, with the markets and the flower shops and the talkative locals who knew _everyone_ and relentlessly pestered him for his entire life story. He found it nice to be considered interesting, though, to be considered an individual human at all compared to the impersonal masses of London. After a hundred retellings, though, Louis began to doubt his life story's remarkableness. Sure, he’d graduated with a fancy collaborative piano degree from Guildhall and had spent the past few years working as an accompanist for some of the most prestigious ballets, operas, and universities in London, but his personal life had remained starkly uninteresting. After eight or more hours a day at the piano, with perhaps an additional two or three devoted to score study, Louis had little time to date or socialize or really leave his flat at all, save for rehearsals. His mum had thought it all terribly unhealthy, and perhaps Louis secretly agreed with her. That was his dream, though, and dreams were never without sacrifice. 

When Zayn got engaged, Louis had paused to assess his situation. Zayn—perpetually non-committal, non-traditional, too-cool-for-love Zayn—had fallen head over heals for their old university chum Liam. The whole thing made Louis feel more lonely than usual. He’d deleted his catch of hook-up apps and decided to give romance a chance, but that had blown up in his face. Turned out no one wanted to date a man already married to his piano. 

After Zayn and Liam’s terribly hard to swallow wedding reception, (every pun intended, they served far too much tequila), Louis called up Niall out of desperation more than anything else. Niall always cheered him up, but that night his suggestion had been a bit more than simply amusing:

“Listen, man, the secondary school here’s desperately looking for a music teacher. They’re just kids, but you could get out of London awhile, get some fresh air, maybe learn how to live like a normal human. I’m telling ya, I love it here. And I’ll give ya free beer whenever you like!”

Madness or genius, Louis didn’t know, and almost didn’t care. He’d dropped it all, the gigs, the connections, even moved his beat-up baby grand back to his mum’s house. He felt less like he was running away and more like something kept calling to him, more like some ache had gotten itself stuck in his heart and needed to be soothed. 

Of course, Louis’ first few weeks were anything but soothing. The school music program had been left in shambles, allowing Louis to form it as he wanted, yes, but not without considerable pushback from the strictly conservative school board. The London approach to immersive musical education not only flew over their heads, but also scared some of the more seasoned teachers shitless. When Louis programmed arias from Salome for the winter concert, they questioned him as to why he couldn’t simply stick with Handel, as Salome’s naked temptress seemed “inappropriate for such young minds.” But, as his plans for the school year took shape, he became more confident in his vision. When the first board meeting took place he showed up ready to defend his curriculum if the need arose. 

Geraldine Watson, indomitable maths teacher, stood at the front of the room with her stack of papers clutched loosely, pulling her cardigan self-consciously over her gratuitous bust. Louis tried to focus on her face but kept drifting down to her large beaded necklace that looked strait from his grandmum’s vanity. 

“Our first task today is to welcome our new music teacher, Mr. Louis Tomlinson.” She carefully held the papers under her arm as she led the small room in a round of applause. Louis nodded and smiled graciously. 

“Louis comes to us all the way from London, and is quite highly accomplished, having worked with the Royal Ballet.”

Geraldine looked dreamily at Louis, as if through her glasses she could see the residue of such a prestigious institution clinging to him still.

“Would you like to say anything, dear?” She motioned to Louis. 

Clearing his throat, Louis stood and said, “Er, thank you for such a warm welcome. I’m very excited to work in such a lovely town.” 

Louis heard smatterings of applause, but more than a few whispers too. 

“I would like to mention,” a rather shrill voice broke in, “In addition to welcoming Mr. Tomlinson to our school, that here we are very, shall I say, supportive, of our culture and traditions.” 

The comment came from a woman in her late fifties sporting a well-fitting grey dress suite and turtleneck, her crucifix prominently hanging from the fabric under her chin. 

“Martha, I’m sure Mr. Tomlinson’s intentions are not nefarious. Besides, it’s about time we start expanding our reach instead of shrinking into our own world. As our new town motto says, ‘Prepare to leave amazed!’ How will any tourist leave amazed if we’re as backwards as a church pew?” 

The room broke out into stifled laughter. Louis turned to see that this latest voice came from a young woman, roughly his own age, with bobbed blonde hair and bright red lips. She wore a silky smile, one Louis felt he’d seen before somewhere, and a bright blue dress. The room tittered in agreement with her, and Louis felt the air shift, as if this woman had a little bit of magic she’d suddenly dispersed in his favour.

“I think Mayor Swift has struck the bull’s-eye yet again. That is exactly what the board intended when we recommended Mr. Tomlinson for the job; an expansion of our world!” Geraldine Watson smiled at Louis and then turned back to her stack of papers, moving on to item number two. 

The meeting dragged on for another hour. Louis learned far more about the merits of collapsible cafeteria chairs than he would have liked. When all was said and done, the departing throng of teachers and board members alike greeted him warmly, many offering tips of advice and recommendations for which local church he should attend. Louis bit his tongue graciously.

The blonde mayor caught his elbow as he exited the building.

“Mr. Tomlinson? I’m so sorry I never got a chance to introduce myself. I’m Taylor Swift, mayor of this charming little place.” She smiled again, her teeth somehow far too white. 

“Please, it’s Louis. Thanks for your vote of confidence back there.”

“Oh don’t mention it. The people here are really quite lovely, but they need a good dose of modern thinking sometimes. That’s why when Niall told me about you, I knew you’d be perfect for the position.” 

“Well,” Louis blinked at the street, “Let’s hope you’re right.” 

“I know I am, Louis.” Taylor squeezed his arm and he noticed how her perfectly manicured nails looked slightly too sharp. “I used to be in music too, in London. Musical theatre, mostly, but I enjoyed the classical scene as well. Moving here felt like going half a world away.” 

She seemed to grow wistful, and Louis’ curiosity got the better of him. “Not to be rude, but you seem awfully young to be a mayor.”

Taylor let out a laugh like tinkling bells. “Oh, goodness, I totally am. This was a complete blip in my plan, really. We had a wonderful life in London until Harry, my fiancé, had his accident. We moved back here in hopes he would recover, but life just keeps throwing us curveballs.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Louis said, not able to shake the odd sensation that Taylor resembled a used car saleswoman. 

“I should let you get home. But you’re coming to the town hall banquet, yes? I’ll introduce you to absolutely everyone! Finally we have a man of true culture in our town!” Taylor flashed him another saccharine smile and hurried off down the walkway, waving goodbye.

Louis waved back, the pit of his stomach feeling very hollow. He chalked this up to hunger and made his way back to Niall’s.

*  
As the last students filed out, Louis set about cleaning the paned windows lining his classroom’s outer wall. He refused to teach in a room of grey-green-sea-scum light. He’d made time to move in his bookshelf of scores, upright piano, and reams of staff paper, but hadn’t scheduled cleaning into his preparations, thinking maintenance would take care of such things. He’d been mistaken. 

The slosh of water pressed tightly on his ears as he walked back from filling the small bucket he’d scrounged up in one of three disorderly hall closets. The afternoon seemed far too quiet. Even the ocean didn’t make up for the cars and sirens and general hum he’d gown accustomed to in the London air. He set the cloth and bucket down and flipped open his laptop, quickly syncing to the speaker he’d used earlier. Perhaps some music would cheer him up. He clicked his ‘favourites’ playlist and listened as the soft tambour of a symphony orchestra filled the room. 

He’d cleaned only two windows and the sun had just started casting shadows from between the close-set buildings when Louis felt, rather than heard, someone enter the room. He turned to see a figure standing in the doorway. As his eyes adjusted from the outside sunlight Louis made out the tall form of a man. The shadowy figure walked tentatively towards him; as he became more visible, Louis felt his breath catch deep in his lungs. Broad shouldered but sinewy, the man had shoulder length dark curls and a jaw line to rival the David. His face looked almost nonsensical though, with sharp features framing soft eyes and plush, pink lips surrounding a large mouth.

Louis remembered himself and spoke. “Can I help you?”

The man lifted his gaze and seemed to see Louis for the first time. “Oh! Um. No! I just… I was just walking by and I heard… it’s so beautiful…” 

The man closed his eyes and a little smile played over his face. Louis found himself endeared. 

“That, my friend, is Debussy.”

“Debussy?” the man repeated, a tint of awe in his voice. “I love it. It sounds like…Well. I can almost remember what it sounds like.” 

“The sea, perhaps?” Louis offered helpfully, but the man’s eyes snapped wide and a look of blank terror crossed his face. 

“What? The sea?”

Louis wondered if he were talking to a startled kitten in disguise. “It’s called _La Mer_. The sea. That’s the title. The whole work is about the ocean.” He quirked his eyebrow at the stranger.

“Oh.” The man suddenly looked very sad. “The sea scares me. I never go near it.” 

“A big lad like you? Nah, you’d be fine.” 

Louis felt himself flirting, but couldn’t really be bothered to care. He knew that likely nothing would come of it, but still, he found himself eager to delay his visitor's departure. 

“Sit and listen if you like,” he offered, and to his surprise, the man did just that, plopped himself down in a small student desk and rested his chin on his palm, eyes half open, head tilted to one side like an attentive puppy.

Louis bit his lip, indecisive about his next course of action. He finally chose to continue washing windows. 

_La Mer_ reached the third and final movement and still the man remained at the small desk, unmoving, listening with wrapt attention. Louis continued his cleaning, risking only occasional glances over his shoulder. In the dimming sunlight Louis began imagining the man had become a statue; he’d never seen another human stay so completely still for so long. What a beautiful statue he made—limbs full of life-beating blood, chin chiselled from the template of mount Olympus. 

When the statue moved, Louis nearly choked on air. The man blinked at him, and with some horror Louis realized too late that the room hung silent and he’d been unabashedly staring. 

“I—“ Louis started, but the curly haired vision just smiled at him. 

“Thank you for letting me listen. That made me…” he paused and furrowed his brow, seeming to form the word out of thick mud, “Happy.” 

Louis’ eyes widened in surprise. “You say that like you’ve not been happy in a while.” 

“I’ve not been happy like that since before I can remember.” The man looked up to his right, accessing the part of his brain used to recall. He soon turned back to Louis, disappointment writ across his face. “Don’t mind me. Thank you.” 

Louis lost all motor control as the man slipped out his classroom door, for if he’d had possession of his muscles he’d have asked the man’s name, asked where he came from, and if they could meet again. 

*

Later, as Niall poured him another beer, Louis told about his strange visitor, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice. 

“I met someone at the school today, lad just wandered in to me Debussy track. Sat there while I cleaned the windows, didn’t say a word.” 

“That sounds weird, Louis,” Niall laughed, spraying some foam from his mug.

“It was, I’ll not deny it, but he was fit as fook, Niall. I’d have watched him sit in me classroom all day.”

Niall punched him in the shoulder. “Well, around here there’s not many people I don’t know. What’d he look like?”

“A Greek god,” Louis replied, the alcohol settling warmly in his stomach. 

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific, mate.” 

“Long curls? Maybe green eyes? Tall. Wide shoulders, looked a bit like a baby deer walking. His voice sounded deep.”

Niall positively snorted, slamming his beer down on the bar with a splash as he chortled into his shoulder.

“Oh Lou, you fucking didn’t,” He cackled, and Louis thanked the fates the bar had emptied a half hour before.

“Oi, what’s the big joke, you ass? He seemed a lovely lad!”

“Lovely he may be, but he’s the strangest bloke this side of Ireland!” 

“You know who he is then?”

“’Course I do! You met Harry fucking Styles, the only man within ten kilometres to wear his hair like a Shirley Temple impersonator!” Niall was heaving with laughter now, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

“You’ve lost me,” Louis said, more than a bit annoyed at his response. Niall caught his friend’s tone and calmed his amusement. 

“Sorry, mate. He’s fine, he really is, he’s just weird as shit. Everyone loves him, though, no doubt about that. Who knows if it’s just because of Taylor or because he’s got some odd charm to him. Maybe a bit of both.”

Louis almost heard the pieces click in his head.

“Taylor… the mayor? Is Harry….”

“Her fiancé, right. They moved here a couple years ago after Harry’s accident. Had a great life in London by the sound of it, but the doctors said he’d stand more a chance of recovery up here.” 

Louis swallowed the lump in his throat. “What exactly happened to him?”

“Well, I don’t know the whole story, but I’ve heard they were up here to visit Taylor’s family and had some kind of boating mishap. They got caught in a storm and Harry went overboard and they found him the next day, washed up on the rocks with no memory of who he was or anything.” 

“He has amnesia?” Louis’ mouth hung open.

“Seems to. Taylor gave up everything to relocate here ‘cause experts said staying in the same place might help jog his memory. Fortunately people here were quite sympathetic, and according to my old boss, they elected her mayor shortly after that, hoping she’d bring a bit of her London charms to bear on the tourism industry.”

Louis downed the rest of his beer. “Fooking hell,” he muttered.

“Thought he was on your team, didn’t ya?” Niall taunted as he elbowed Louis in the ribs. 

“Don’t be a twat, Niall.” 

“Can’t lie to me, Tommo. I thought the same thing when I first met him, don’t worry. But he’s absolutely devoted to Swift, follows her around like a puppy, does anything and everything for her. They’ve been engaged since before his accident, but he won’t get married ‘til he can remember asking her, that’s what the rumour is.” 

Louis swiped the back of his hand over his lips. “Cheers to that.” 

They drank away the evening with minimal conversation, perhaps because Louis had been consumed with the image of Harry doting on Taylor and something about it gnawed away at his thoughts like a starved termite.

 

The next week passed slowly, time seeming to become like the very waves around the town’s rocky shore, peaking and folding and repeating. All of Louis’ students were bright, wonderful creatures, and he found himself unexpectedly fond of them. He enjoyed teaching music almost as much as he enjoyed performing it, much to his shock; he found something quite fulfilling about spreading his knowledge to young, eager minds. 

Louis’ Thursday afternoon fifth year choir—which consisted of only ten girls, but still—had just filed out of his classroom when he heard a soft rap on the door.

“Hullo,” Harry’s deep voice said, and Louis looked up to see a controlled smile around the curly-haired man’s lips. 

“Hello!” Louis bit his cheek to keep from beaming. “You’re Harry, right? What brings you back here?” Louis asked out of genuine curiosity, deeply thrilled something _had_. 

“I heard the singing. I was, um, dropping off some paperwork for my fiancé. I couldn’t resist your music. Again.” Harry blushed spectacularly. “You’re the new music teacher, aren’t you?” As Harry stepped into the classroom Louis caught a sent of lavender and brine. 

“Yes, I’m Louis,” he chuckled, his palms slicking up where he’d been pressing his hands together. “That was another Debussy. Can’t take credit for it, he’s been dead a while.” Harry made a face and Louis smiled at his bemused expression.

“The choir is learning the last movement of Debussy’s _Nocturnes_ , called _Sirens_. It’s about the mythical sea creatures.” 

“Sea creatures? Oh.” Harry’s eyes went wide again and he shifted uncomfortably.

“Look,” Louis opened the score and held it out for Harry, more interested in detaining him from leaving than actually explaining the complexities of Debussy, but Harry’s eyes lit up, fascinated. 

“Are those notes?” He pointed to the little black dots peppering myriad lines. 

“Yes, these are for the orchestra, which, obviously we don’t have, we just play a recording, and these lines here are for the choir.” Louis indicated the top row. 

“They look like waves.” 

“Sorry?” Louis almost thought he'd heard incorrectly.

“The way they move on the page, the little dots. They look like how waves form. See, they move the same, back and forth, ebbing and skirting.” Harry’s long finger traced the notes, following their trajectory. 

“I’ve never heard anyone say that,” Louis nearly whispered, staring at Harry anew, wondering at the bright eagerness in his green eyes.

“What does this mean?” Harry asked him, pointing to a kind of sideways triangle.

“That’s a crescendo. It tells you when to get louder.”

“And the opposite of it, there, does that mean get quiet?”

“Exactly.” Louis couldn’t contain his grin as Harry flipped through the pages.

“What’s this big squiggly line?” Harry asked.

“That’s a glissando, for the first harp part. See?” Louis pointed to where the instrument names were listed on the side of each staff. 

“How many instruments play this?”

“Maybe… around sixty-five. Give or take some violins.”

Harry’s eyes went round. “It takes that many people? Gosh.” He flipped through the rest of the score, stopping on the last page. 

“Do people ever read this while they listen?”

“Er, well, not really. Usually only the conductors.” 

Harry’s face fell. “Oh.” 

“Do you—“ Louis cleared his throat, “Would you like to, though?”

Harry’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh could I? Would that be okay?”

Louis laughed just a little. “Of course, Harry. Let me put on the full recording.” 

He turned Harry back to the first page of the score then hurried to his desk to pull up spotify. Clicking in the speaker to his laptop, Louis turned the volume up and rejoined Harry, who had seated himself yet again in a student desk. 

“I can help you follow along, if you like,” Louis offered.

“Oh that’s okay, I’ll be fine.” 

Louis held back a snort. Even a seasoned musician would have difficulty following a score they’d never seen before. But as the music started, the opening wordless ‘ooo’s’ of the choir and the percussive harp filling the room, Harry flipped along perfectly, his eyes scanning the page not for notes or rhythms, but for patterns of rise and fall, loud and soft. Halfway through the piece, Louis began to wonder if the man beside him was some kind of genius, a former musical protégée that had forgotten his talent. As the ending harmonics sounded, Harry turned to Louis with the biggest grin splitting his face. 

“I love it,” He said, all sparkly eyed and pink cheeked, causing Louis to ponder the possibility of love at second sight. 

“Harry, were you by any chance a musician, before?” He hesitated a bit. “Niall told me about the accident.”

Harry shrugged. “Oh I don’t mind, don’t worry. No, I’m sure I wasn’t. I think I would miss it by now if so.”

Harry suddenly seemed to remember his present location and stood up from the desk quickly, handing the score back. “I’m sorry, I bet you wanted to get home and I’ve kept you ages.” 

Louis couldn’t contain the bubbles frothing in his blood like some magic sea-foam. 

“Not even a little, Harry, it was my pleasure. I hope…” he knew what he’d normally say under such circumstances, but Harry remained engaged to the mayor. “I hope you have plenty more deliveries here.” 

“So do I. I hope there’s more Debussy, too.” 

Louis might have been imagining the spark that ignited between them as Harry’s eyes meet his, but he definitely did not imagine the sorrowful gaze in the man’s eyes as he turned and walked away.

*

“It’s bloody wet!” Zayn said immediately as he and Liam disembarked from the very old very small village bus. 

“It is by the sea, Z.” Liam had a talent for always stating the obvious that made Louis want to punch sharp objects. 

“Glad we’ve established that, lads,” he quipped over his shoulder, as he couldn’t quite fully turn around, laden as he was with all of Zayn’s bags. 

“You are only staying the weekend, right?”

Liam responded, though Louis had directed the question at Zayn. “Yes, actually I have a huge staff meeting Monday and I have to spend at least three hours—“ 

“Great, well, maybe tell your princess to pack like it next time.” 

Louis could feel Zayn arching both perfect eyebrows behind his back, but Liam just giggled. 

Louis had been learning to love his old, rather charming apartment, though tonight he regretted its poor lighting, an annoyance only because Zayn’s cheekbones relished dim light, and Louis had been feeling lonely and horny all week and seeing Liam squirm around in his pants did nothing for his mood. 

“Is Niall working already?” Zayn asked, unfairly illuminated by the table lamp. 

“The lad works almost twenty-four seven if I’m honest. Don’t know how he does it. But he’s taking a few hours off tonight for the banquet, don’t worry.” 

“It was jolly nice of you to invite us, wasn’t it Z? I love these little old towns, they’re so quaint and slow. It’ll be a nice change to London.” 

Zayn nearly rolled his eyes but instead patted Liam’s knee. “Bebes even got a tweedy suite.” 

That was indeed correct. Two hours later Zayn and his far too tight dress slacks and slightly open shirt, Louis and his simple black suite, and Liam and his tweed three piece complete with pocket watch walked out the door of the pub with Niall, who wore simple black jeans and a reindeer jumper. 

“Biggest event of the year, this is. Which isn’t saying much, of course, but the town hall banquet always brings in tourists who want to see an old fashioned celebration.” 

“Tell me they have tequila,” Louis heard Zayn whisper. 

When they arrived Louis finally understood all the fuss made about the event. The town hall, usually a boring and quaint stone structure, had been transformed by twinkle lights and mounds of flowers into a late summer paradise, lit by hanging lanterns and candles on each table. As they entered a man in butler garb offered them cakes from a silver tray. 

Louis found their table and settled into his rickety folding chair, noting how the dim flicker of the candles also agreed with the angles of Zayn’s face. _Damn_. 

“Hi Louis,” he heard from behind him, and sure enough, there sat Harry, wearing a blue sports jacket and slacks, his shirt buttoned up to the collar and affixed with a thin, pinstriped tie. 

“Louis! How lovely you’re here.” Taylor chimed in from behind Harry, waving her gloved hand at Louis, her too-white smile on full blast. “How do you two know each other, darling?”

“Oh I’ve… I’ve just run into Louis when I drop things at the school.” Harry played with his napkin as he said this, an odd thing for a grown man to do, Louis thought, but he didn’t have much time to ponder it before Taylor stood up from her table and headed to theirs, Harry in tow.

“I absolutely must meet all your friends. Please, introduce me to these lovely young men!”

“Well,” Louis took a steadying breath, “This is me best mate Zayn, and his husband Liam, they’re visiting from London for the weekend, and of course you know Niall.”

“Oh how wonderful! You’re both very welcome. Yes hello dear,” she bent to kiss Niall on the cheek, “I’ve been meaning to stop by and get your signature on the Pentlow petition, you know. Oh! And this is my fiancé, Harry. Say hello to everyone, dear.” 

Harry nodded at them rather sheepishly. Louis watched as Taylor took his arm, gripping it tightly enough her nails formed little ripples on his sleeve. 

“We should make the rounds, there are lots of new faces here tonight. It’s such a success, and only the third annual banquet since we reorganized everything! I’m sure you’ll all have a wonderful time.” 

Before she could pull Harry away he said, “There’s dancing later,” directly to Louis, their eyes meeting for a full two seconds before Taylor clutched him closer and leaned in to kiss his cheek. 

“I almost forgot to tell you! It’s wonderfully old fashioned and fun, we booked a fifties band all the way from Oxford, and I’ve heard they’re fantastic.” 

Taylor scrunched up her face for one more smile and then waved delicately at them all, pulling Harry along with her as she rounded on another unsuspecting table.

“Brave man,” Louis heard Zayn whisper to the bread hors d’oeuvres. 

“I bet she’s a very effective mayor,” Liam stated, breaking the silence as he buttered his bread. 

“Sometimes, bebes, I wonder how we’re married.” Zayn actually heaved a sigh as he bent to kiss Liam’s neck.

“I don’t mind her, but I hope she forgets I own a business,” Niall said dryly.

“Mate, I don’t think she forgets anything.” Louis shifted his thighs under the tablecloth, far too aware of how his eye contact with Harry had made him bunch in his pants.

The friends got their dinner buffet style and even Zayn left impressed with the selection of dishes, all supplied by the good townsfolk. Though Harry and Taylor’s table sat right behind theirs, the mayor-ess spent most of her time chatting with constituents, Harry by her side. Louis tried to eat and converse with his friends, but secretly he watched them make their rounds. 

As much as something in his gut hated to admit it, he confessed to himself that Taylor seemed a good mayor. She would schmooze and praise everyone she met, spinning words to make each person think they were more important to her than the last. Harry, Louis soon realized, went with her for a reason. The townspeople loved him. Whereas Taylor’s affections were, at least to Louis, rather overdone, Harry genuinely charmed people with his sincerity, his kindness, his sweet smile. The older women pinched his cheeks, the older men patted his arms, the younger women giggled as he kissed their knuckles, the younger men stood up a bit straighter as Harry shook their hands. On Harry’s arm, Taylor could do no wrong. 

“Lou?” Zayn poked him. 

“What?” Louis had been lost in thought, not noticing that the other boys had gone for refills and he and Zayn were alone. 

“I said, what’s going on with you two.” 

“With who two?” Louis felt his cheeks redden.

“Play dumb with Liam, bebes, not me. With Harry, idiot.” 

Louis bit his cheek. “Nothing. Honestly. He’s stopped by my classroom and listened to music twice, that’s all, I swear.” 

“Then why’ve you gone pink?”

“Too much wine.” Louis punctuated each word, lacing them with as much venom as he could muster. 

“Fine, fine,” Zayn held up his hands, “But—well—no way he’s strait.” 

Louis didn’t acknowledge Zayn’s observation, but he did tuck it into the little bag of hopes and dreams inside his heart. 

As promised the dancing proved fantastic. Who knew such reserved people could let loose under a little alcohol and music from their childhoods? Louis danced with the chemistry teacher, Susan, before breaking off to shake his ass with Niall and the rest of the town lads. Soon, many of the more elderly crowd began to head home, leaving the thirty-somethings of the city to rule the floor. Louis, being firmly twenty-seven, felt like a young debutant—for a while. 

By the time midnight hit his feet were aching and his head felt attached by a string. Niall had just started chugging his fourth shot when Louis stumbled out the side doors and onto the moonlit fishing pier, desperate for some fresh air, sea spray or not. 

He nearly walked past the hunched form against the rocks. 

“Harry?” The wind stole half his volume, but Harry still turned towards him.

“Oh. Hi,” he said, as if it were perfectly normal to sit clutching your knees to your chest on a rocky beach at midnight. 

“Are you okay?” Louis asked, stepping off the wooden walkway to join Harry against the boulders. 

“Sometimes it’s a bit overwhelming,” he said, and Louis could see how white his knuckles were from holding his legs. 

“Did Taylor go home?”

“No. She wouldn’t leave without me. I’m sure she’ll find me soon, she always does.” 

Louis bit his tongue before he said something untoward. 

“Would you, um, like to walk down the pier with me?” Louis asked.

Harry recoiled like Louis had slapped him. “No!” It was more a plea than a scream. “I—I’m terrified of the ocean, sorry. I never go much farther than this.” 

“I see.” Louis felt something churn in his gut, a feeling that something was wrong, out of place. 

“Do you mind if I sit with you, then? I could use a smoke out of the wind.” 

“Of course not.” Harry finally let his legs slide down and met Louis’ eyes, even flashing a warm smile. 

“You know,” Louis said as he lit up, “You make quite the politician’s spouse. I saw you back there, charming all those voters.” 

Harry laughed. “Taylor calls me her secret weapon. But maybe it’s kind of true, they’ve never elected a mayor so young before.” 

“Is that so?” Louis feigned ignorance of the story.

“It’s quite remarkable, I suppose. She hadn’t lived here since she was a little girl. She spent most of her life in London. That’s where we met, apparently. She brought me back one time to meet her family and…” Harry motioned to the ocean and his head, “the accident happened. The doctors told her that staying in the same area as I lost my memory might help me get it back. So she’s here for me, you see. Gave up her fancy career in the city and everything, all for me. She used to be a rising star in musical theatre, you know.” 

“She definitely has a flare for dramatics.” Louis puffed in the hot smoke, feeling it sting his throat. He remembered vaguely that he was supposed to be quitting, for the tenth time. 

“I sometimes wonder how this can be the life she wants, you know? Mayor to a tourist town of maybe three thousand people and a fiancé that can’t even remember what his career used to be.”

Louis could almost feel the guilt dripping off of Harry, making slick the rocks around them. “Surely Taylor can tell you some of what you don’t recall?”

“She says I was a lawyer, but I don’t remember anything. I’ve tried reading lawyer-y textbooks. I’m rubbish at it.”

Louis heard Harry sniff loudly. 

“What do you do now, for work?”

“Whatever I can, really. I help Taylor with paperwork and run errands. Most days I also work at the animal clinic. I’m really good with animals, actually.” Harry smiled at that, the first genuine spark of happiness Louis had seen all night.

“Well, you’re really good with music too, you have a natural knack for it.” Louis said, patting Harry’s shoulder. The man leaned into his touch.

“Do you really think so?”

“’Course I do. Tell you what, stop by me classroom again sometime and I’ll bring in the score for the first Debussy you heard, and you can read along. Maybe I can even teach you a bit about it.” 

“Would you really?” Harry’s eyes looked so eager that Louis nearly collapsed in on himself with adoration.

“Anytime, Harry, anytime at all.” 

Harry flung his arms around Louis and squeezed, enveloping him in the warmest, strongest hug he’d ever experienced. 

“Thank you so much, Louis, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” and Harry stood clumsily up from the rocks and hurried back along the pier to the town hall, leaving Louis stunned, speechless, and unfairly hard. 

*

“It’s been three weeks? Harry’s been coming for private lessons for _three_ weeks?” 

Louis yanked the phone away as Zayn’s yell echoed in his eardrum. “Yes, asshole, three weeks. What’s so awful about that?”

“What’s so awful? You’re bloody in love with him, that’s what’s awful, Lou. You’re in love with him and you’re spending every evening with him going over _music scores_?”

“Look, I agree it’s not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but he’s so eager, Z. He nearly wet himself when I showed him _La Mer_. He almost cried when we’d finished it! I had to pull _Peter Grimes_ out of me ass just to make him stop blubbering that there were no more pieces about the ocean. And you know I haven’t looked at that opera since university.” 

“It’s fucked up, s’what it is, Lou. You really are in love with him, aren’t you?”

“We’re friends, that’s all, obviously. Do you honestly think I’m going to steal him from the fooking mayor?” He tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder, hastily putting the finishing touches on his dinner (currently frying in a pan). 

“You’re going to get a broken heart, bebes, and I’ll not be there to pick up your pitiful-ass pieces this time.” 

“Look, you’re my best mate, but mind your own shit, Zayn. I’m not in love with him, for fooks sake.” 

He was lying, he knew he was lying, and after he’d hung up the phone and plated his dinner and taken his first bite, he tasted the lie on his tongue still. He contemplated the lie as rivulets streamed down his windows from the storm outside. 

Harry had been his everything for nearly a month now, the best month of his life. Every day after classes Harry would wander in under some pretext or another and studiously sit with whatever score Louis provided him, learning the note names and the clefs and the instruments and the rhythm, and finally he would follow along in the score as Louis blasted the music. They had covered Debussy and Britten so far; Louis had tried Wagner’s _Das Rheingold_ , but apparently rivers weren’t fascinating enough for Harry, so back to sea music they'd gone. He’d already dusted off Ravel’s _Une Barque_ and Vaughan Williams’ _Sea Symphony_ …

And he knew he should stop, he knew he should break whatever spell the beautiful, magical man had him trapped in, but Harry was both the most kind and most lovely human he’d ever met, not to mention the most gorgeous, and Louis could not physically bear the idea of living in the town without Harry in his life. 

A crack of lightening took out the electric. Sudden darkness felt almost welcome, perhaps offering an easier place to weave falsehoods. Louis felt his way to the kitchen drawer and fished out a torch. 

“Fooking ocean,” Louis cursed under his breath, recalling the other million or so storms that had already come their way due to the town’s snug positioning on the coast. Over the thunder, or perhaps on top of it, Louis heard a mewling outside. Canting down the stairs two at a time he flung the door open for Niall’s Rover, a dusky tom with as bad a temper and cheeky an attitude as Louis himself. 

“You go strait to the pub and stay out of my place, you hear me?” Louis chided the drenched feline, who simply eyed him with glowing yellow orbs and thwacked his dripping tail against Louis’ leg. 

Before he could close the door, lightening illuminated the street once again, and Louis saw a distinctive outline run past him. Without even questioning his actions, Louis darted outside. 

“Harry?” He called, but the storm raged far too loudly, its sheets of water drenching Louis after his first ten steps, making the cobblestone streets slippery. 

Harry kept running at full tilt, and Louis, for whatever reason, knew he must go after him. Harry had leg length to his advantage but clumsiness to his disadvantage, so by the time they’d passed through the small town centre and started to approach the shoreline, Louis had caught him up enough to try yelling once more. 

“HARRY!” He called, gasping as rainwater blew into his mouth and sea spray stung his eyes. 

Harry came to a stop on the rocky beach, a stark silhouette whenever a lightening bolt hit. Louis’ ribs hurt and his eyes were streaming but he followed Harry down the shore, ignoring the sharp rocks under his soaked shoes. 

He had nearly reached Harry when the man started ripping his clothes off and tossing them into the ocean. As soon as his trousers and pants hit the waves, Harry launched himself into the water. 

“HARRY! FOOKING HELL!”

Kicking off his shoes and wondering if he had stumbled into a nightmare, Louis waded in after him, the rain plastering his hair in his eyes, the waves licking at him hungrily, pulling him down. Lightening struck again, reminding Louis of the very real possibility they could die. 

“HARRY! HARRY!” He called, not sure of his footing in the choppy waves, and only half sure of his swimming skills in the midst of a storm. 

Then, off to his right, he saw Harry, standing neck deep in the water, eyes closed and oblivious to the storm around him. As quickly as he could Louis waded over against the churning surf, grabbing for Harry’s slick skin. Harry didn’t even notice his touch and went pliantly as Louis pulled him back towards the shore. As they came free of the surf Harry’s full weight hit him and he valiantly dragged him up the sharp, small rocks of the beach. Harry never flinched. For one awful moment Louis wondered if he’d died. 

“Talk to me, Harry, say something, anything. Are you okay?” Louis smoothed curly hair from his forehead and felt for a pulse at his neck. He was alive, but his eyes were closed and he felt cold as ice.

“Harry, Harry? Love, answer me,” Louis begged, gently slapping Harry’s cheeks and tapping on his chest.

“Mmm… L—Louis?” Harry’s eyes fluttered open and he started shivering. “Where—where am I?”

“Oh god,” Louis pulled Harry to his chest in relief, resisting the urge to kiss the man’s forehead. 

“Try to stand up, Harry, we’ve got to get you home.” 

“I’m so c-c-c-cold, Louis,” Harry chattered out, his lanky arms crossed over his chest. 

“I know, love, you took your clothes off… come on, come with me.” Louis removed his soaking sweater and tucked it around Harry’s shoulders as he guided him back up the beach. 

Louis wished he could carry Harry, but he couldn’t. They made slow progress as the mostly naked, barefoot man stumbled against the rain and the slick cobblestone, Louis firmly grasping his arm. 

“Louis, I’m s-s-so c-c-c-“ 

“I know, love, I know,” 

“My skin, it’s gone, it’s so, so c-cold, Louis,” 

“Almost there, Harry, that’s it,” Louis would absolutely not be walking Harry to the other side of town and depositing him, naked and delirious, on Taylor’s doorstep. He guided Harry inside his own door and up the stairs, hoping against hope Niall wouldn’t stop by unexpectedly. 

Harry stood there, in his threshold, teeth chattering, dripping onto floor as Louis figured out the best course of action. He picked up his torch and decided on a bath. 

“Come on, Harry, let’s get you warmed up.” 

He pulled the half awake human into his bathroom and started the tub tap, checking the water temperature's safety before shoving in the plug. 

“In you go, Harry, that’s it.” Harry continued to be a mass of sleepy, uncoordinated limbs, so Louis had to half fold, half lift Harry into the tub. The naked man’s skin left goose bumps against his own and Louis knew they weren’t from the cold. As Harry leaned back, finally relaxing, Louis saw his eyes still hung half lidded and his lips, now that Louis could see them better by torchlight, were chapped and swollen. 

Louis let himself sink to the floor and breathe as the water filled around Harry. Gradually, Harry’s eyes opened wider and he looked at Louis, confused.

“Lou?” he slurred, blinking three times as the bath reached his chest and Louis turned off the tap.

“Ya?” 

“What am I doing here?” 

Louis rubbed a hand down his face, taking a deep breath. 

“Harry, you ran into the ocean. You stripped your clothes off and ran right into the bloody fooking ocean and almost drowned. I got you out and brought you here before you died of hypothermia.”

Harry seemed to contemplate this for a moment, then the horror began to spread on his face. “Louis, I went into the sea? Into the ocean?” 

His voice sounded desperate and wrecked, a frantic whisper. 

“Yes, love, you did.” 

“Louis, I don’t…I don’t remember.” Harry burst into tears, sinking farther into the water. Louis reached out and took his hand. 

“Shhh, it’s okay Harry, you’re safe, you’re fine.” Louis smoothed his thumb over Harry’s knuckles, wishing with all his heart he thought that true. 

“I’m going crazy, aren’t I?” Harry whispered, tears dropping from his cheeks to mingle strangely with the bath. 

“I’m sure you’re not, Harry, please, don’t—“

“Everything burns,” Harry said pitifully, “All over me, it burns.” 

Louis thought for a horrified minute that the bathwater had gotten too hot, but then the electricity flickered back on and he could clearly see dozens of scratches, some quite deep, all over Harry’s body, presumably from where Louis had dragged him up the beach. His blood had turned the bath water pink. 

“Fook.” Louis scrambled towards the cabinet for some disinfectant and bandages. “If you’re not freezing now, best get out and we’ll tend to those.”

Harry climbed out of the bath with Louis’ arm as a support, dripping pink droplets all over the bathmat. Harry’s movements still being slow and clumsy, Louis towelled Harry off as best he could, gulping down the urge to look too closely. This wasn’t the time to memorize the dip of Harry’s collarbones, the smooth musculature of his chest, the curves of his hips, the trail of dark hair descending from his navel... 

Harry snuggled the towel around him, making low humming noises, as Louis cleaned his scratches and applied the ointment and bandages. When he finished, he dug out some larger trousers and a shirt for Harry, as well as a pair of pants and socks. Louis left him to get dressed and slipped into his own room, removing his soaking clothes and putting on the warmest tracksuit he could find. 

When he returned to the living room he found Harry sat waiting on the couch. 

“Louis, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” 

Louis sat down beside him. “It’s fine, Harry, you’re safe, that’s all that matters. Do you want me to call a cabby to take you home?” 

“I—can I stay here a bit longer? Taylor will want to know all about it and...” He paused, glancing sheepishly at Louis, “I don’t really want to explain everything tonight.” 

Harry swallowed and hung his head. Louis barely stopped himself from drawing Harry into his arms. 

“Of course, love. I’ll make us some tea.” 

But when Louis came back, two cups in hand, Harry lay curled up on the old cushions, Louis’ brown throw blanket tucked around him, snoring lightly. 

 

Louis had some difficulty sleeping that night and finally, at five am, resigned himself to an early start. He tiptoed out into the kitchen, but he needn’t have bothered; Harry had gone, leaving no sign of his entirely unorthodox visit other than the rumpled brown blanket on Louis’ sofa. 

 

*

As school ended for the day, Louis didn’t expect a visit from Harry. He figured the man would be either too ill or too embarrassed to stop by. Louis was just about to close his laptop and resolve himself to a boring evening at home when he heard a small rap at the door.

“Hey,” Harry said, voice very quiet.

Louis nearly fell off his chair. 

“Fooking hell. Harry, are you okay?”

“Ya.” Harry looked at the floor, shuffling towards him. “I think I was sleepwalking last night. It’s happened before, Taylor and the doctors think it’s some kind of PTSD from the accident.” He chewed on his still-chapped lower lip.

“I really owe you one, Louis. You saved my life.” 

“I’m just glad you’re okay, mate. Honestly, you scared me shitless.” 

Harry’s eyes lit up a bit at that, and Louis couldn’t figure out why. They spent the rest of the afternoon on Vaughan Williams. 

*

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. The end of November found Louis letting Harry help tutor his younger students in rhythm and note names. This provided yet another excuse for him to spend time with the curly-haired man, though he already saw Harry every day. Seeing him on weekends had begun inadvertently, when Louis had decided to grab a scone and tea early one Saturday morning. He’d found Harry sitting outside the little local café’s door, wrapped in a wool pea-coat, holding the leashes of eight different dogs. 

“Hi!” Harry had greeted him, lighting up like a firework.

“You never told me you walked dogs!” Louis had petted each wet-nosed fur-ball in turn, giggling as they licked his face. 

“It’s the best part of working at the vet clinic,” Harry had said triumphantly, his affection for the creatures shining through his smile.

Louis had bought Harry a scone and tea as well that day, and the encounter became a sort of Saturday tradition. As for Sundays, Louis found himself attending Taylor and Harry’s church, possibly only because Taylor sang in the choir and thus left Harry standing in the pews all alone. Louis fixed that. If their close friendship bothered Taylor, she did a marvellous job of not showing it, for she even invited Louis home for her family’s Sunday dinner most weeks.

As the winds of winter began to blow, Louis knew he was walking on matchsticks. His affection for Harry hadn’t escaped even the casual observer; two tourists told them one weekend that they made a lovely couple. Louis tried not to think of how red Harry’s face had grown at the statement, nor of how he’d walked just a bit closer to Louis afterwards, swinging his arms and ‘accidentally’ bumping Louis’ hands. 

Louis knew it would come to a head sometime. Part of him wished nothing would change, because that way at least he’d get to keep a little bit of Harry’s heart. Another part, possibly a stronger part of Louis, ached to jump the beautiful man and confess his love. The turning point came on a Saturday morning when, to Louis’ shock, Harry and the dogs didn't show up to the café.

“Jim,” Louis asked as he paid for his tea, “Harry hasn’t been in yet, has he?”

“Oh, I expect not today. Didn’t you hear? Terrible business. Police broke up a fighting ring last night, brought all the poor creatures into the clinic. Pretty nasty scene, I heard. I expect that lot’ll be busy well into the afternoon.”

Louis felt his heart clench up. He nodded to Jim and hurried out the door, inadvertently turning towards the veterinary practice. As he neared the building he saw a cluster of police vehicles. Nodding to the emergency personnel, who were busy writing notes and leading burly looking dogs into cages, Louis entered the building. The receptionist, Margaret, who also happened to sing in the choir, greeted him sleepily.

“How are things, love? Calmed down a bit?” Louis asked.

“You have no idea! It’s been a horror of a night, Louis. Twenty dogs total, and at least seven with terrible injuries. I’ll be so glad when this is over!” she clutched at her chest.

“Have you… is Harry here, by any chance?” Louis asked, wondering if Margaret cared that he had no right to do so. 

“He was, last I saw. Let me check with Doctor Stevens, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

Louis stood waiting in embarrassment and worry, his stomach flipping over in confusing bundles of knots. 

“Louis?” Margaret called, sticking her head around one of the surgery's doors, “Actually, Dr. Stevens asked if you could you take him home.” 

Louis felt himself skidding in his hurry, nearly running into Margaret as she passed by on the way back to her desk after pointing apologetically to the far corner of the brightly lit concrete room. 

Louis stepped forward carefully, noticing that the air smelled of bleach and blood. The lights shone blindingly bright, their fluorescent rectangles glaring into his eyes. As his vision finally adjusted he saw Harry, crumpled against the far wall, his head between his knees. 

“Oh Harry,” Louis rushed to him, his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes already stinging with tears. “Harry, love…” He knelt down and began rubbing circles on Harry’s back, petting at his tangled curls, noting the dried blood on his clothes. 

“Harry? Harry?” He asked again, now gently shaking his shoulders. But Harry wouldn’t lift his head. Louis could just make out his quiet crying. 

“Why would anyone… how could they…” Harry’s soft, shaky voice evolved into more cohesive sobs, his chest shuddering raggedly. 

“People can be awful,” Louis kneaded his thumbs into Harry’s upper arms. “But you can’t let it get to you like this, love. You’re okay, ya?”

“Course—“ Harry sniffed loudly and looked up at last, revealing red-rimmed eyes and a puffy face. “’Course I’m not okay! They KILLED them, Lou! They killed them. For fun! How could anyone do that! Doesn’t it hurt them? Don’t they feel it like I do?”

Louis watched as Harry’s face crumpled again, the tears welling up and then spilling over his too-green eyes, snot collecting above his lip, hair matting against the wetness of his face. 

“I—I don’t—“ Louis tried to answer but Harry continued, 

“They ripped their skins, Lou, they ripped them off they—they—they’re MONSTERS!” Louis had never heard Harry scream at anything or anyone; he nearly fell back in shock. Harry then sobbed out, softer, “How can they not feel it? It hurts so much Lou…” Harry clutched at his ribs, gnawing on his lip. 

“I don’t know, Harry. I don’t know.” Louis felt utterly helpless. He’d never met a person so entirely made up of empathy. He simply had no words of comfort. 

“Come ‘ere,” he finally said, and pulled Harry to him. 

Harry bent easily and grasped Louis, fingers knotting into his shirt and head burying into his neck. Louis let him cry, let him shudder with sobs and cling to his shoulders and twine his arms around Louis’ torso like he had become some kind of buoy in the ocean of Harry’s grief. Louis held him close, petted his hair, even kissed his hot forehead, because Harry needed to be held. Though his actions were far too intimate, far too exposed and raw, Harry needed him, and in that moment Louis didn’t care. 

He lost track of time sitting in the windowless room. Harry eventually stopped crying, but didn’t make to move away. If anything he cuddled closer, seeming to soak up Louis’ warm aura like a salve, desperate to bath himself in the calming, safe energy of his embrace. Louis let him of course, and not just because he’d let Harry have anything, but because holding Harry felt more profound than a religious awakening. It reminded him of the first time he’d held a kitten, or a newborn baby, or a wounded little bird; something shifted within him, tying him to a new center of gravity. 

When the door opened it startled them both. 

“Har—there you are! They said you’d left ages ago! I’ve been so worried!” Taylor paused and seemed to notice Louis for the first time. Her eyebrows knit closer together. “Louis, thank goodness you found him. Thank you for staying with him until I could get here, he takes things like this quite hard.” 

Taylor walked over, gripped Harry’s arm, and pulled him none too gently from Louis’ embrace. Harry went languidly like a noosed horse. “I’ll take him home now, he needs rest.”

Louis briefly wondered if Taylor noticed the flush of his own face or the way he scrambled up along with Harry, not wanting to leave his side. But Taylor ignored Louis, instead gentling her fingers down Harry’s damp cheek, cooing to him and rubbing his shoulder. “Some rest and good food and you’ll be good as new, won’t you sweetie?” 

He could barely stop himself gagging at their contact; it looked akin to chalk rubbing over silk. Louis wanted to rip her touch from him, but Harry didn’t pull away or move at all. He stood there and let her caress him and pat his cheek and tug his curls, his large eyes fixed on the floor. Though an uneasy feeling twisted in his gut, Louis imagined his reactions were filtered through a lens of pure, unadulterated jealousy. 

As Taylor pulled Harry towards the door, Louis impulsively reached out to touch Harry’s arm. 

“Do get some rest, Harry, and feel better, okay?” 

Harry met his gaze and Louis watched in horrified ecstasy as the man’s eyes filled with tears again. This time, though, Louis had a terrible, wonderful hunch the tears had nothing to do with dead dogs. 

He stood there a long time after they left, questioning why his heart felt full to overflowing and why his soul yearned for someone so clearly and obviously not his to yearn for. Louis seemed to be drowning in his love for Harry and for once he didn’t want to come up for air. 

*

The next few days were torture. Louis wore such a foul mood that even Niall refused to be around him. Harry didn’t stop by the school, but Louis hadn't expected him to. A line had been crossed—a big one, a bigger one than dressing a naked Harry’s wounds—and Louis’s heart ached with the knowledge that they couldn't go back. Taylor knew; she had to know. The allowances Louis had given himself, the fantasies and wishes, all dissolved in the face of reality. Harry wasn’t his. Harry wasn’t his to comfort, nor care for, nor love. On top of his utter despair, Louis felt coated in guilt. 

He called Zayn on a particularly masochistic day and listened to the pretty boy chew him out for an hour about how he always orchestrated his own misery. 

Nearly a week later he ran into Taylor while on a grocery trip. He made the mistake of asking after Harry, prompting Taylor to reward him with her whitest of white smiles as she replied, “He’s doing so much better, he just needed a little time away from everything. He’s had too many stressors in his life lately.” 

Louis bit his tongue and swallowed down the implication that he himself was one of those stressors. He regretted his inward bitterness towards Taylor on the walk home; after all, the dynamics of a relationship built on amnesia would be tricky at best. Perhaps he'd assessed their relationship unfairly. Perhaps he _did_ orchestrate his own misery. Perhaps, he told himself, he should act like an adult and get a life. 

That very night Louis resigned himself to moving on. He lit the never-before-opened trio of candles in his room and put on an old playlist of jazz classics. He’d planned to curl up and read a book, but the lotion on his bedside table caught his eye and honestly, he’d been miserable and horny all day. 

He laid back on his bed, tugging himself slowly, his mind inadvertently filling with the memory of soft dimples and bright pink lips. He pushed these images away. He focused instead on recalling disembodied dicks, porn dicks, exceptionally hot hook ups, and one rather satisfying drunk orgy in college. His mum might as well have been standing next to him for all the good it did. Bodily horny but mentally heartbroken, Louis thumbed over his head, willing himself to get up. 

“Fook.” 

He moaned pitifully, slumping over onto his stomach, half-heartedly trying to hump the mattress, his cock wanting none of it. 

He awoke in this position to a rapping on his door. Half asleep, he pulled on his trousers and ran a hand through his hair, blinking several times. He realized the house had grown dark. He’d slept through supper, and now late evening had set in. 

“Louis?” a soft voice called. 

He threw the door open and stared at Harry, who stood there in a suite and…socks. 

“Harry?” Louis looked him up and down quizzically. 

“It’s a long story.” Harry shuffled past him and closed the door, holding a finger to his lips.

“I snuck out. I’m supposed to be at the town council meeting, but I couldn’t stand it any longer.” 

Louis couldn’t breathe. He took several steps back from Harry.

“What do you mean? You do talk some shit sometimes.” 

“She won’t let me see you. She says it’s your fault I’ve been sleepwalking and having flashbacks. She says I can’t come to the school and help you with classes anymore. She’s banished me from you, Lou.”

Louis swallowed, hard, because a golf ball had lodged in his throat. “You’re a grown man, Harry, you can do as you please. If—if you want my honest opinion, I think Taylor is a bit controlling of you.”

“I know. I don’t mind usually but… I’ve never cared about anything she’s controlled before.” 

He stepped closer to Louis, but Louis retreated farther back towards the kitchen, his hands shaking, afraid of falling once more into Harry’s gravitational orbit. 

“Cared? About helping me with classes?”

Harry shook his head, his curls bouncing, his eyes biting into Louis’ soul.

“About studying music, you mean?” Louis could not make himself ask the real question.

Harry shook his head again, and Louis watched as his green eyes grew damp. 

“You. I care about _you_ , Lou. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I need you.”

Harry rushed into his arms then, like a river un-damned, and Louis embraced him, feeling Harry’s raw energy vibrating down to his bones. His heart thrummed so loudly in his ears he almost missed Harry’s whisper.

“Why do I need you so much, Lou? She wants me to need her like this but I can’t. I can’t, I can’t.” Harry buried his face in Louis’ neck.

Louis knew what he had to ask. He felt the words birthing themselves from his mouth before his lips even acknowledged them. 

“Harry, do you sleep with Taylor?” He asked gently, pulling away to cup Harry’s cheek with his hand, stroking his temple.

“Of course. Every night.” 

“No. That’s not what I mean. Do you, um, do you have sex with her.” 

Harry froze and bit his lower lip. 

“I—not really.” 

“Can you explain that, love?” Louis almost held his breath. 

Harry wouldn’t meet his eyes. “She says we used to have sex all the time. Before. She always wants to but…” He hesitated. “Well. I’m broken now, I think.” 

“Harry,” 

“I try, I really do, but it never…” Harry hung his head. “Never works.” 

“What never works, love?” Louis asked, his heart in his windpipe, Harry’s breath so close it warmed his eyelashes.

“Me. I never work.” 

Harry’s eyes filled and began to spill over. He swiped harshly at his tears. 

“Harry,” Louis very lightly stroked his cheek, “Are you saying you can’t get up for Taylor?”

Harry nodded, his eyes closing tightly. 

“Darling,” Louis cooed, pulling Harry to him again. “Love, have you ever considered that maybe you’re not attracted to Taylor? Maybe you’re not attracted to women?”

Harry sniffed. “But we’re engaged, Lou. I must be. I have to be.” 

“Harry, love, no, no you don’t have to be. If you’re not attracted to her that’s not wrong, that’s not your fault, Harry. I don’t know who you were before the accident, but I do know that you have to be true to who you are _now_.” 

Louis wrapped his arms around Harry as tightly as he could and Harry melted into him, his breathing gradually slowing to a steady rhythm. Louis guided Harry to the sofa and sat them both down, taking Harry’s hands in his. 

“Harry,” Louis swallowed again, “Do you think you might be gay?” 

Harry didn’t speak, but nodded slowly. 

“Oh darling it’s okay, I promise it’s okay.” Louis drew him into another hug, wishing for all the world it were enough. 

As he made two cups of tea in his tiny kitchen Louis dodged feelings of smug happiness. While he did genuinely believe in Harry’s gayness, reaffirming this fact to the obviously tender and troubled man made him feel quite selfish. He battled with the guilt of his joy as he handed Harry a chipped china cup. 

“Thanks, Lou.” 

“’Course, Harry.” 

They sipped in silence until a harsh knock sounded at the door. Harry jumped and spilled his tea.

“I’ll get it,” Louis said, squeezing Harry’s shoulder as he stood, picking up on the worry that had suddenly creased his face. 

“Hello?” Louis couldn't really feign surprise when he saw Taylor staring back at him from the open door. 

“Is Harry here?” She said, her mascara-coated eyes wide and unblinking.

“Ya, he is.” 

She sighed and clutched at her heart. “Oh thank God. I’ve been combing the entire town for him. Can you bring him out? I need to get him home, he needs rest.”

“Er,” Louis felt half mad saying it out loud. “Taylor. I think maybe Harry needs some time away to figure a few things out. He’s been through a lot, like you said, and maybe he could stay here a couple of days.” 

Taylor’s expression turned annoyed. “I don’t think that’s a wise idea, Louis, he needs to be home with me.” 

“I don’t think he wants to be home with you right now, Taylor.”

“Let me see him. Harry? Harry come here, sweetie!” Taylor tried to elbow past Louis, but he blocked the door solidly.

Louis turned towards the sofa to see Harry, wide eyed, shaking his head vehemently at him, knuckles white where he clutched the couch. 

“I really think he needs some time away, Taylor. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of, I promise.”

Taylor’s face shifted again, and this time she looked ready to burst into tears. Her thin lips trembled in their candy red coating and she shakily said, “Louis, close the door a minute. I know you think you’re helping him, but you don’t understand. You just… you don’t understand.”

She motioned him outside. Louis turned and nodded to Harry in reassurance before he obliged, closing the door behind him.

“Alright, since you apparently need to know, Harry doesn’t just have amnesia. He has PTSD and a slew of other problems. He dissociates and has horrible mood swings and even…” she lowered her voice, “Louis, if he’s in one of his trances, he can be dangerous.”

Louis didn’t respond. 

“He can’t even tell what’s true anymore. He makes up lies and stories and he believes them! He once told a doctor that I had cursed him with magic and he told my mother that mermaids talk to him. He’s not _safe_ , Louis, and I’m doing my damn best to take care of him.”

“By keeping him at your side every moment?” Louis bit out.

“Oh my gosh! You have no idea, you really don’t. Why do you think I moved to this fucking god forsaken town and made a home for us? Why do you think I make sure everyone in this village loves and adores him? It’s so he’s protected if anyone ever catches him—I don’t know, running down to the ocean naked or something.” 

Louis’ breath caught in his chest. Taylor noticed instantly and flicked her eyes to his.

“So you have seen it, the real Harry. Then how can you doubt I have his best interests at heart? I’ve done everything for him, for the love that I once shared with him. I’ve sacrificed my entire life for a man who can’t even…” Taylor blinked away tears, “Who can’t even make love to me.” 

Louis’ teeth drew blood where he bit his lip. 

“He… his brain isn’t the only thing that’s damaged.”

Louis felt bile rush to his stomach, making it lurch and churn and burn like fire. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally replied, his brain doing acrobatics, calculating every possible truth.

“I don’t want you to say anything. I want you to bring him outside and let him go home with me.” Taylor laid a hand on Louis’ shoulder and he felt the weight and the absurdity of it all come crashing down on him. Zayn’s voice filled his ear, as did Niall’s, and his own common sense chimed in as well. He started to break, to come apart, warring with himself through his guilt and his love and his sense of liability. He couldn’t understand the conundrum of Harry, and the pain of that unknown lessened with Taylor’s explanation. Louis, like most humans, preferred the safety of terrible truth over the possibilities of the unknown. For this reason he walked back inside to Harry, who still sat white-knuckled on the couch, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes. 

“Harry, you have to go home now. Taylor’s here to take you home.” 

Louis saw Harry mouth a soundless “no” as his cheeks lost their colour and his face contorted in a silent scream. Louis took Harry’s hands and pulled him up, his heart breaking all over again in the process. They walked awkwardly towards the door, Harry’s socks skidding on the floor where he dragged his feet heavily. His eyes never left Louis’ until they reached the threshold and Harry finally hung his head, defeated. Louis felt a million knives digging into his kidneys. 

“I’m here, sweetie, let’s go home, shall we?” Taylor reached out for him, and Louis would have let them go, would have let her take Harry, but for the look that crept over her face. 

Louis had seen that look before, spread across the smiles of music teachers when they gazed at their protégés and the faces of feckless stage parents. He recognized it deep in his gut. It was a look of ownership, of triumph, of greed, of want, of envy. 

He yanked Harry behind him. “Forget it, Taylor. Harry won’t be going home with you.”

Louis felt Harry’s fingers grip the back of his shirt as Taylor’s mouth fell open. 

“Don’t make me call the police, Louis. I will.”

“You won’t.” Louis felt a strong sort of clarity overtake him and he knew what to say. “Because if you do I’ll tell the whole town how their mayor let a ‘mentally unstable maniac’ wander the city freely, taking care of people’s dogs and tutoring their children.” 

Taylor blinked several times, her face turning an ugly shade of chartreuse. Her lips grew even thinner as she breathed heavily out her nostrils, finally turning on her heels and hurrying down the apartment’s wooden stairs. Louis’ hands shook as he closed the door and locked it instantly. 

He turned to Harry, his mouth filled with apologies. Tears had dried in salty clusters down Harry’s face. 

“God. I’m so sorry Harry I—I’m so, so sorry.” Louis felt Harry’s gaze boring into him. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I already have.” 

Tentatively, like they’d never before touched, Harry embraced Louis, letting their bodies find the hollows and grooves of the other before grasping with any weight. Harry nuzzled his face against Louis’ shoulder. His hot breath came in small gusts against Louis’ hairline; the tension drained from him and he sagged against Louis’ small frame, languidly content. 

Louis let his hands find the nape of Harry’s neck, let his fingers knot into the damp, curly hair there. He inadvertently began humming Debussy, and Harry swayed back and forth with him to the music until they moved in a sort of dance, their foreheads touching. 

*

Louis called Zayn from the pub, just in case Harry were to wake up. In the two days since he’d made up the spare room for his guest, Harry had done a fair amount of sleeping. Louis recognized emotional exhaustion when he saw it, so he tiptoed around and tried to keep quiet. 

Niall heard the whole conversation as he wiped down the bar. 

“You’re in the middle of a fucking mess, Louis, I hope you know that,” Zayn’s exasperated voice said.

“I do.” 

“Then there’s not much more to say.” 

“Thanks Zayn, you’re always there when I need you.” 

“You’re an idiot, but you did the right thing, okay? There, I said it. You did the right thing. You’re still a fucking idiot.” 

“Right.” 

Louis hung up only to find Niall shaking his head in agreement. 

“You’ve stepped in it, mate.”

“Oh will everyone just fooking shut up.” Louis downed the rest of his beer.

“I agree their dynamic is weird as fuck, Tommo, but you shouldn’t have gotten involved. This is a small town. People gossip.”

“You know what, for once I don’t really give a bloody damn, okay? Let them gossip.”

“Right. Let me refill ya then.” 

*

At nearly two in the morning Louis trudged back upstairs, full of beer and too many thoughts. Assuming his troubles were over for the night, he flicked on the light to the living room. He nearly had a heart attack. Harry stood, stark naked, in front of the large living room window, facing towards the sea.

“What the bloody hell Harry?” Louis felt Taylor’s words slink back into his mind, a sliver of fear and doubt ready to consume him.

“I can see the ocean, Louis,” Harry slurred, pointing to the moonlit harbour less than ten blocks away. “It’s so cold, Louis, my skin—“

“That’s because you’ve got no clothes on, you nitwit,” Louis muttered, picking up the strewn articles of Harry’s clothing from the floor and realizing, with some unease, that Harry was still very much asleep, starring at him with vacant green eyes, much like he'd done the night of the storm. 

“I don’t need clothes with my skin,” Harry said, leaving the window to follow Louis around as he picked up Harry’s socks. “My skin is warm.” 

“Harry,” Louis touched his shoulder gently, “You’re ice cold. Here, put your clothes back on.” 

“Don’t make me,” Harry moaned, and tears, actual tears came out of his sleep-glazed eyes. 

“Why are you crying about clothes, Harry?” Louis wanted to scream or punch something—perhaps both.

“They’re not my clothes!” Harry blubbered, sinking to the floor, hands coming to his face as he started to sob. 

“Okay, shhh, shhh, will you… um… here.” Louis grabbed the large brown throw blanket and offered it to Harry. 

He looked at it, slightly puzzled, but then smiled. “That’s better,” he said, and let Louis drape it around him, even covering his head and cinching it beneath his chin. Louis breathed out a long sigh.

“Come on, Harry, let’s get you back to bed.” 

Harry went willingly, leaning heavily on Louis, enamoured with the blanket. He pulled it with him as he tumbled to the mattress. Louis heard a soft kind of humming as Harry snuggled the brown fabric tighter, enclosing his face. Louis tried to sleep that night, but couldn’t. 

 

*

Having Harry as a flatmate proved more enjoyable than Louis had anticipated. Though he loved him with an unrequited, consuming passion, Louis found himself also _liking_ Harry. Harry loved to cook—and did so regularly—and he enjoyed cleaning, picking up after Louis half the time. Any awkwardness Louis dreamt up disappeared in reality; Harry remained a happy, kind, and thoughtful person. Louis had long since banished any notion of them being more than friends, so he delighted at what a _wonderful_ friend Harry made. He found himself hurrying home from school, eager to share his day and his dinner and his evening. 

The weeks passed quietly. Louis went about his classes and Harry resumed his job at the clinic. By night Harry helped Niall at the pub, dodging gossip with his charming smile. They ventured out shopping together once and ran into Taylor; she didn’t say a word. Taylor simply glared at them until Harry slipped his hand in Louis’ and pulled them on. People caught on eventually, and to Niall’s surprise, the topic seemed more taboo than salacious. Louis didn’t care either way. He and Harry listened to music together in the evenings and made tea together in the early mornings; his life became full of joy and love and hope, and he wanted to keep this existence with Harry; he wanted it so much it hurt. 

Louis recklessly let himself dream, but his hopes ended on Harry’s fifth Friday night with him. The moon shone full in a crystal clear sky and for this reason, though the air blew frigidly cold with he dead of winter, Niall suggested they go for a midnight stroll. Harry agreed excitedly, leaving Louis with only one option: go along. 

Niall chattered about the night’s customers while Harry tilted his head up at the stars, tripping over uneven cobblestones in his desire to watch the heavens, his breath ascending upwards in heavy, visible plumes. Louis clutched his arm and kept him from falling as they wandered through the deserted little town towards the pier, taking in the smells and shadows of the night. The rocky shore stood sharply defined in hues of blue and steel and the waves sloshed more quietly than most nights, giving the ocean an eerie calm. 

Louis, aware of Harry’s sea phobia, checked on him several times as they walked along the pier. Harry squeezed his hand in reassurance and seemed entirely okay.

Then, half masked by Niall’s continual chatter and laughter, Louis heard a noise like pebbles skipping on a frozen pond. A piercing series of chirps followed, nearly making Louis cover his ears. 

“Bloody hell, what was that!” Louis gasped, but then the moaning started. It sounded like a wolf’s cry, but shriller, seeming almost human. 

“Ah, don’t worry mate it’s just—“

But as Niall spoke Harry bolted from the pier and began running down the rocky beach towards the water. 

“Holy shit,” Louis swore as he took off after him, leaving Niall utterly bewildered. 

“Harry! HARRY!” Louis called, but Harry was already tugging off his clothes and wading into the ocean. 

“Harry you’re going to die! Fooking hell!” Louis didn’t hesitate a moment before clambering in after him, the icy water hitting his shins like razor blades. 

“Harry!” The cold slowed Louis’ movements and though he desperately willed his legs quickly forward, he didn’t reach Harry until the naked man had slipped almost entirely under the shallow water, his green eyes closed. Louis frantically pulled Harry against up against him, noting the dead weight of his body; he'd probably lost all consciousness. 

Niall reached them finally. Taking Harry’s feet, he helped Louis carry him to shore. As they set him down Louis saw a weak, breathy plum issue from Harry’s lips and observed that even in the moonlight his limbs looked an unhealthy shade of blue.

“We’ve got to get his clothes back on or we’ll loose him,” Niall said, grabbing Harry’s discarded affects and tossing half to Louis. “Hurry.” 

Louis tugged on his pants, then his trousers, the task made harder by both Harry’s clammy skin and Louis’ own frozen hands. Niall forced his shirt and jacket back on and muttered something under his breath. Louis took Harry’s hands, pressing them to his mouth and blowing on them, his heart thrumming out of his chest. 

“Harry? Wake up, love, we have to get home, we’re all frozen. Can you stand? You’ve got to try and stand, Harry, please,” Louis begged, kissing Harry’s icy knuckles. 

“Ahhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwww…”

Louis and Niall both froze, staring at Harry in shock. 

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeiup, eeeeeeeeiup, eeeeeeeeeeeeiup!” 

Louis couldn’t believe his senses. The sounds came from Harry’s mouth, and as they echoed into the night, his green eyes opened and he stared glassy-eyed up at the sky. 

“What the fuck is he doing,” Niall breathed, looking at Louis in terror. 

“I don’t know,” Louis said. The original piercing noise sounded again, this time obviously responding to Harry. 

Niall stiffened. “Louis,” he whispered, shaking. 

“We carry him, NOW!” Louis grabbed Harry’s shoulders and Niall his feet. They ran back up the shoreline and managed to haul their frozen charge well into town before collapsing in a heap. When they’d caught their breath, they picked him up again, panting in the cold air as they finally made it back to the pub and up Louis’ apartment stairs. Louis turned the heat up to ninety after they stumbled through the door. 

“Fucking idiot!” Niall exclaimed, wheezing hard. “Should I call 999?” 

“No! He… he’s done this before. Granted, it was warmer then.” Louis ran a hand over his face. “Help me get him in the tub. That’s how I warmed him up last time.” 

Niall dutifully helped to deposit Harry in the bathtub and Louis turned the tap to cold, not bothering to remove Harry’s clothes. 

“Louis? What the fuck?” Niall shook his head, his hands on his hips.

Louis bit his lip, feeling his cheeks suck in as he watched the water pool around Harry’s legs. 

“This happens sometimes. I don’t know why.” 

“Mate, I hate to say this, but what if Taylor’s right. That’s not normal. He’s not normal in the head. He went into a fucking trance, Louis. He went into a trance and he howled like a wolf.”

“It wasn’t like a wolf.” Louis felt oddly defensive. 

“Fine, you’re right! He actually sounded like that fucking seal! Look,” Niall pulled at his hair, pacing the bathroom. “I’m freezing. Can you handle him yourself now? I’d like to go to bed.” 

Louis saw not only frustration but also genuine concern in Niall’s eyes. “Ya, thanks. We’ll be fine.” 

Louis heard Niall let himself out. He knelt beside Harry and began to stroke his forehead, trying to coax him awake, for his eyes, though open, still remained glassy in sleep. 

“Harry, love, can you come back? Wake up for me, Harry. Please.” Louis turned off the tap as the water closed around Harry’s neck, making his jumper float strangely in the tub as it rippled around his body. 

Harry's eyes finally fluttered open and Louis could see the green clearly. 

“Why am I in a bath?” He asked, his voice weak and thin. “Why am I wearing my clothes? Lou, why am I so hot!” 

Harry’s tone increased in volume and urgency as he finally squealed, “It’s burning, it’s burning me!”

He stood up suddenly, sloshing water all over Louis and the bathroom. He tried to climb out of the tub but Louis held his shoulders firmly and sat him back down, the water peaking out of the bath in cold little waves. 

“The water’s not burning you, it’s barely warm, Harry. You went into the ocean again. I’m trying to warm you up without taking you to a fooking hospital.”

Harry grimaced but went still. “I did, Lou?” He shivered under his floating clothes.

“Don’t worry about it right now. Just warm up, love. Don’t tire yourself.” Louis pet his damp curls, tracing the ringlets around his ear. Harry leaned into his touch, closing his eyes.

“Stay with me, Lou.”

Louis stayed. Harry’s skin eventually turned a soft pink again and Louis helped him slip out of his wet clothes and into a warm towel. After bundling Harry in the brown blanket and depositing him on the couch, Louis made them both mugs of hot cocoa. 

Louis sat down next to him, watching Harry giggle and blow on his hot drink to make its steam rise in wavy ribbons. He didn't know how to start saying what he needed to say, so he just observed Harry and drank in all his beautiful oddities. If Harry was broken, would that everyone in the world was broken like him. His heart and spirit and empathy filled recesses in Louis’ soul he hadn’t even known existed. He opened his mouth to speak but instead found himself choking around imaginary words. Harry turned to him then and said earnestly, 

“Lou, why haven’t you ever kissed me?” 

Louis nearly spilled his drink. “Pardon?”

“I’ve lived with you for weeks now, and I know you want to. And I want you to. I’ve wanted you to since the moment I saw you.” 

Louis’ mouth went dry. “This isn’t what we need to discuss, Harry,” he said as gently as he could, taking Harry’s free hand in his. 

“Why not.” 

“Because there are more pressing matters. Like…” Louis took a deep breath, “Why you howled on the beach tonight.”

Harry blinked at him. 

“I did?” He lowered his head a moment, then whispered, “It hurts, Lou. If you kissed me, it wouldn’t hurt so much.” 

Louis set his mug down with a clink on the coffee table. “What wouldn’t hurt so much?”

Harry closed his eyes. “I don’t know.” 

“Fooking bloody hell…” Louis cursed under his breath as he brought his hands to his face and rubbed roughly over his cheekbones. “Harry, do you know what… what…” 

“What is wrong with me?” Harry finished in a soft, small voice. 

Louis’s heart dissolved into a mass of pulsing shame. He pulled the man to him and gently pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Harry. You’re kind and sweet and good, and I don’t understand you at all, and I don’t know if I ever will, but there’s nothing wrong with you, darling. Nothing at all.” Louis breathed in his scent, swallowing hard.

Harry pulled away, his eyes shining as he met Louis’ gaze. “I love you, Lou,” he said quietly as he moved his lips to Louis’ and kissed him. 

Their mouths melded together like molten iron, sealed in gasps and tongue and whimpers until Louis broke for air. 

“Harry…” Louis had started to unravel, and he couldn’t stop. 

“I want you, Lou. I really think I do. Can I have you?”

Louis smiled weakly. “I’m yours, love.” 

Harry blinked slowly several times, then swallowed, his wide eyes skating over Louis hungrily. He ran a hand down Louis’ torso, continuing tentatively down over the bulge in his jeans. Biting his lip, Harry tugged Louis’ shirt over his head, throwing it to the floor. Louis let Harry explore his body, helping to shimmy out of his trousers as Harry pulled them off. With trembling hands Harry slipped his fingers under the waistband of Louis’ pants. 

“Um,” Harry licked his lips.

Louis nodded reassuringly. 

Harry tugged down the fabric, freeing Louis’ cock to bob thickly against his left thigh. He’d gotten hard the moment Harry’s lips had touched his. 

Harry starred at him, mouth open. “You’re so pretty,” he mused, running his fingertips over Louis’ hipbones. 

Harry took a deep breath and shrugged off the blanket and towels, letting them fall in heaps around him. His cock stood erect against his stomach. 

“Lou,” he said, gaze fixated on his penis; it peeked prettily out from his uncut foreskin with every beat of his pulse. 

Louis caught his lips in a kiss, and Harry shivered. “That’s how it’s supposed to be, darling,” Louis whispered. 

They breathed in stillness for a moment, their naked bodies grazing each other. 

Louis broke the silence, resting his hands on Harry’s smooth chest. 

“Have you ever done this, Hazza?” 

“I don’t know. But for once I’m glad I can’t remember, Lou. I want this memory to belong to you.”

Louis took a deep breath. “Lie back love, like this.” He propped Harry up against the cushions and lowered himself between his muscled thighs.

“Tell me if you ever want me to stop, okay Harry?”

Harry nodded, his tongue sliding out to lick his lips.

Louis took a moment to enjoy the sight of Harry’s cock, to relish in a reality he thought would never occur. He began at last to stroke his underside, watching Harry’s plush pink cock-head engorge. Louis then bent and kissed it, drawing Harry into his mouth slowly, his tongue licking in small circles.

Harry whimpered, bucking up under Louis’ mouth. Louis caved his cheeks in around him, pressing up and sucking. Harry’s whimpers turned to gasps, and as Louis squeezed his base, he began to thrust. Louis let him hit his throat until the rhythm numbed him, swallowing the thrusts until Harry moaned and trembled and cried out, his whole body spasming as he came in Louis’ mouth. 

Harry’s cum tasted so strongly of salt Louis nearly choked. He managed to swallow and nurse Harry through his aftershocks, only pulling off when Harry said brokenly, 

“Lou…”

“I’m here, baby, I’m right here.” 

“Hold me, Lou, hold me, I’m slipping away. Don’t let me go. Please don’t let me go.” 

Louis felt a chill run up his spine as he climbed atop Harry, wrapping his arms around him. “Never, I promise, Harry.” 

Harry pulled Louis tighter against his chest, his eyes closed, his breath coming heavily. Louis’ cock had become trapped between their bodies, and in half acknowledged agony he ground into Harry’s silky, damp skin. 

Harry giggled and whispered almost shyly, “Can I?” 

“Here,” Louis took his hand and guided it atop his own as he reached between their bodies and grasped his dick. “Help me along, love.”

Harry watched with big eyes, his pliant fingers around Louis’ as Louis tugged himself, twisting at his head and smearing drips of cum up and down his shaft. He built quickly, huffing hot breath onto Harry’s chest before gasping out as he climaxed, shivering into Harry’s hard nipples as he spurted all over their hands, flecking milky liquid onto their stomachs. 

Harry removed his hand from around Louis’ and carefully, reverently caressed Louis’ twitching cock. He then brought his hand to his mouth and sucked in two cum coated fingers. 

“You taste like candy,” Harry said, his voice a husky shell.

Louis lay still atop him for a few minutes, counting Harry’s steady heartbeats beneath his ear. His emotions were too tangled to worry about, and even if he’d tried, Harry's climactic moans took up all the space in his head, echoing on repeat. 

“Come on love, lets clean up and go to bed,” Louis said finally.

“Bed?” Harry asked, sounding nervously hopefull. “Bed, singular?”

“Oh Harry. I love you.” 

They fell asleep twined under Louis’ sheets.

*

Louis watched sunbeams play over Harry’s skin, painting him in ribbons of peachy gold. He traced his finger along Harry’s clavicle as he stirred, his sleepy smile carving out a single dimple in his cheek. 

“Morning, Lou,” Harry whispered, his fingers finding Louis’. 

“Good morning, love,” Louis pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips, feeling like a child presented with their first Christmas. He half groaned when a voice called from the front door. 

“Oi, are you awake Tommo? Is everything okay?” Niall yelled out, knocking a few times.

Louis rolled his eyes, calling back, “Be with you in a tic, Niall, just getting up.” 

Harry rolled over, still half asleep. 

“Love, you get a bit more rest. I’ll go see Niall, okay?” 

Harry nodded as Louis kissed his shoulder and tiptoed from the room, grabbing some clothes as he did and throwing them on as he passed the kitchen. 

He found Niall waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, extra tea in hand.

“Did you manage everything alright by yourself?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yep, no problems. Thanks, mate.” Louis took the tea and gulped down a large sip.

“That so? Good, good. I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear you two fucking, then.”

Louis spit out his mouthful.

“Shit.” 

“What the hell are you doing, Louis?”

“Look, Niall, I know what you must be thinking—“

“No, don’t really think you do. I’m thinking that he belongs in a hospital. He’s got problems, mate. He’s not fucking safe, Louis. You can’t keep him, and you can’t fuck him. You have to either take him to a hospital or take him back to his fiancé who knows how to manage him.” 

Louis stared at Niall, feeling mortally wounded. “Fook off. You know I can’t do that,” he sniffed, tears pooling unbidden in his eyes. “I love him, you idiot.”

Niall sighed. “How’d I know you were gonna say that?” He relented and patted Louis’ shoulder. “Lou, take care of yourself, alright? Don’t let him consume you, like Taylor did. Just promise me you’ll be careful.” 

Niall left Louis with his cup of tea and trudged back into the pub, shaking his head. 

*

As the days blended together and happy memory piled on happy memory, Louis felt something start to gnaw away at his chest. This half forgotten something, a memory of a memory, pervasive and annoying since that night on the beach, struck him half formed whenever he looked at Harry. 

With the passing of time Louis confirmed his knowledge of two things: he was helplessly in love, and he was consumed with something he should know, but didn’t. Yet he tried to brush the something aside because never in his life had Louis been more excited to walk through his door every day. He lived with a grinning, dimpled, curly creature who kissed him passionately and sang while he cooked and talked of music and history and art and love and life. Louis had never been happier. His bed was Harry’s. His kitchen had Harry’s half used tea mugs strewn about. Louis' heart nearly burst with unadulterated affection for a man who bartended like a life coach, treated animals as humans, and spoke to the fucking plants in his windowsill like they had feelings. 

Louis knew that if he tried to figure out the _something_ his world would vanish. Even still, as the weeks stretched on and the two of them started showing up places together and the townspeople began to grasp what had happened, Louis knew in his heart that none of it would last. If he simply poked a little bit, his life with Harry would implode. 

So Louis caged the _something_ inside of his love for Harry and he wished and hoped and begged he would never have to open that door. But as the first winds of summer blew over their coastline, that wish vanished like sea mist in the sun. 

The moon hung like a sliver in the sky as Louis walked home late from a parent teacher meeting. He could almost taste the lasagne that Harry had promised for dinner, so much so that as he walked into the apartment he startled at not smelling it. 

“Love, I’m home,” he called, staring at the pair of socks strewn near the entranceway. When he heard no reply he walked briskly to their room where he found Harry’s other clothes. A wave of hot panic crashed over him and he ran through the flat, his heart pounding. 

“Harry! Harry answer me, where are you?” 

Harry wasn’t in the kitchen or the bathroom or the living room or the closets and finally, at the far end of the apartment, Louis found him in the spare room, lying against the wall on the floor, cocooned in the brown blanket and rolled up like a taco, his head completely covered. 

“Harry?” Louis crouched down next to him, trying to tug the layers of fabric away from his face. He eventually found a strand of hair and then Harry’s nose. 

“Love, what are you doing?” Louis gently tugged the blanket away and Harry greeted him with the glassy green eyes of his sleepwalking self. 

“I’m going home,” Harry said, smiling enough to pop one dimple. “I’m all dressed, see? I’m going home now.” 

Louis felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes. “This is your home, Harry. Here, with me.” 

“If you had skin you could come, couldn’t you? Do you want to share mine?” Harry unrolled himself a bit from the blanket and draped it around Louis. 

“Baby…” Louis felt his heart breaking. 

“Now you can come home with me. Have I ever told you about home? It’s so beautiful, Lou, it’s perfect.” 

“Hazza, love, you’re home now. Harry, please, wake up, wake up Harry.” Louis patted at his face until the focus came back to his eyes and Harry blinked up at him, confused. 

“You were sleep walking again, love,” Louis whispered. 

“But… but…” Harry’s eyes filled with tears. Louis shushed him. 

“It’s okay love, nothing bad happened—“

“But why’d you wake me up! I was almost home!” Harry began to cry and pulled himself into Louis’ lap, his whole body shaking. “It hurts, Lou, it hurts, make it stop hurting, kiss me, Lou! Kiss me!” 

As Louis watched the tears and snot mingle over Harry’s lips, he finally understood. His love acted as a balm, a kindness that allowed Harry to forget, that let him ease his pain. His love could never cure him, could never heal him, it could only be a band-aid. Louis had never felt more hopeless. 

“Baby,” Louis bent to wipe at Harry’s tears, “Baby if I kiss you, you’ll forget, you’ll forget your home. Do you want to forget?” 

Harry grew silent, his wet lashes blinking several times against his cheekbones. 

“No,” he said, very softly but very clearly, and Louis couldn’t stop his own tears from mingling with Harry’s as they held each other into the night. 

*

The next morning, prompted by the cruel fate of inevitability, Louis slipped out before Harry woke and went to Taylor’s house. He didn’t really know what he hoped to accomplish, but she held the last link to Harry’s past; she had to know something. He rang the bell twice. 

“Louis!” She gasped when she saw him and hurriedly pulled him through the door. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I want you to tell me about Harry. The truth this time.” 

“I told you once, and you didn’t believe me.”

“No. You told me what you wanted me to believe about him. I want the truth. Something in his past is hurting him. Does he have family somewhere? Is there anyone he could be missing? Does he have another home?” Louis took a steadying breath, surprised to find his whole body trembling.

“Look who finally cares to ask the right questions,” Taylor quipped, pulling her white plush robe closer around her shoulders. 

“I’ve always cared, Taylor.” 

Taylor sneered, openly hostile now. “No, you were content to accept him as he was, because you knew knowing would rob you of him, didn’t you? You’re no better than me, Louis.” 

Her words were pure venom and they pierced Louis’ soul. “Tell me, Taylor. Tell me the truth.” 

“You want his papers? Here. Here they are, a whole envelope of them, birth certificate, medical records, the whole lot.”

Louis took the offered articles, leafing through the stained pages, noting in his gut that any, or all of them, could have been forged.

“Thanks but this tells me precisely nothing.” He met Taylor’s icy blue eyes with his own. 

“Fine. Here it is, here’s the truth. Harry’s an orphan, he was raised in a home, he has no family and no career and no means of support. I found him rotting away in a hospital ward four years ago. I got him out by pretending to be his long lost sister. The doctors said he’d never be able to live a normal life, but he was sweet, and kind, and charming, and I thought, maybe in the right place, a quiet place, we could try. I thought I could give him a better life than the one he’d had before.” 

Taylor teared up, swiping delicately at her mascara encrusted lashes. Louis didn’t buy it. 

“Then why does Harry have happy memories from before? He talks about a home! He says it was perfect.” 

“Because he wishes it to be true! Don’t you see, he makes things up because he has nothing! He wants to have a happy life _so much_ that he dreams it up himself!” 

Louis tilted his head, understanding the lie in her words before Taylor could realise she’d slipped up. 

“Ah. That worked for you, didn’t it, because he never was truly happy with you. But he is happy with me. He loves me, and I love him. If what you say is true Harry should be glad to let those fantasies and dream worlds fade away. But he doesn’t. He would never choose to live in a dream world now. He isn’t creating fantasies, Taylor. I don’t believe you.”

“Oh goodness!” Taylor broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Oh look at Louis Tomlinson, ‘my love is stronger than psychosis!’ You absolute idiot, do you really think your love is so wonderful that Harry would find his perfect life in it, without his delusions? You’re just as crazy as he is.” 

Louis looked her hard in the eyes and slowly raised his middle finger. 

“You can keep your secrets, then. You can also go right to hell,” he said, exiting her house and slamming the door behind him. 

*

The next few days passed with Harry more often than not curled on the couch in Louis’ brown throw blanket, fevered and exhausted with trying to remember. Louis fed him and held him and comforted him but Harry remained mostly listless and stupored, and Louis started to worry that Harry was, in fact, dying. Taylor’s words replayed countless times in his head, as did Niall’s; the pub owner maintained the opinion that Harry should be taken to hospital immediately. When Louis called Zayn, he had agreed with Niall. Louis warred with his desire to keep Harry safe and the reality that perhaps his fear was keeping Harry from help he desperately needed. 

Louis needed to get out in the fresh air and clear his thoughts, so on a sunny Saturday morning, while Harry slept calmly on the sofa, Louis decided to take a walk. The streets were bustling with summer tourists, a reason he usually avoided stepping out on weekends. Makeshift markets dotted the sidewalks, filling the air with fried fish and spun candy. Louis drifted towards the coast, enjoying the light sea breeze on such a warm day. He found his way down to the pier, which was predictably littered with booths of trinkets. 

“Come, my dear, come, they have a gift for you.” 

Louis spun towards the voice. It belonged to an old woman, an authentic fishwife by the look of her, owner of only ten remaining teeth.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Louis walked towards her rickety booth, noting that not a single soul appeared to be eyeing her wares. 

“Them, they does.” 

Louis followed her bony finger across the rocky beach to a cluster of seals sunning themselves on the shore. 

“They do? Sorry, I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand nothin’, young man. But you will.” 

She pressed a small book into his hands. 

“For you, ocean musician.” 

Louis felt a tingling down his spine.

“How did you know that I’m a musician?” 

But the old woman had turned back to her wares already, peddling shell necklaces to a gaggle of young girls.

Louis shrugged, opening the little book in his hands. It looked to be a sort of guide to children’s fairy tales. Amused and willing to be even momentarily distracted from his thoughts, he bought himself a bag of popcorn and sat on the edge of the pier to read.

The first chapter outlined the magical properties of unicorns. The second discussed goblins and their hoarding ways. The third dealt with the varied wing types of fairies. As he flipped to the fourth and final chapter, the ink seemed to jump out from its page.

 _Selkies_.

Louis stuffed more popcorn into his mouth and told himself the moving ink must be a trick of the sun.

 _These mysterious creatures are really shape shifters, able to leave their seal skins and walk upon dry land as humans. Many people have caught selkies by finding them asleep whilst in human form and stealing their skins. Once caught, a selkie is bound to the keeper of its skin forever. Selkies often became the wives and husbands of lonely sea-side peoples, giving them beautiful children and imbuing all they touch with powerful magic. A village blessed with a selkie is sure to prosper. One must beware, though, that a captured selkie is always searching for its skin. If a selkie ever finds its skin, it will disappear back whence it came, with nary a thought for those it leaves behind._

A horrid churning started in Louis’ gut. He took another bite of the popcorn and slammed the book closed, tossing it into the ocean where it bobbed a bit on the waves before sinking from view. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up to the sun, hoping the warm rays would cleanse the dark thoughts swimming in his head. He felt nearly well again when he heard it. 

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeiup, eeeeeeeeiup, eeeeeeeeeeeeeiup.”

Louis’s heart jumped out of his chest and his eyes flew open, searching desperately for the source of the sound. He stood too quickly, spilling his remaining popcorn and knocking into two people. 

“What’s that! What’s making that sound!” He said, unintentionally out loud.

“It’s the seals, mister,” said a little girl as her older sibling tugged her past Louis. 

His heart beating thickly in his ears, Louis looked over to the animals just in time to see several rise up on their flippers and yelp into the sky. 

Before he could properly think, Louis ran back up the pier, dodging tourists left and right, the noise of the streets blocked out by the hum building in his head. He only knew he had to get back home to Harry.

Like a morning drunk he staggered up his stairs, fumbling with the keys in his shaking hands, finally throwing open the door and rushing to Harry, who still slept on the couch. 

Louis knelt beside him, cradling his head tenderly in his hands, tears choking his breath, his fingers greedily playing with Harry’s soft head of curls. 

“Mmmmm. Lou?” Harry stirred groggily as his forehead creased in confusion. 

“Hazza,” Louis whispered, kissing Harry’s nose and his cheeks and his eyelids and his temples, desperate to touch his lips to every inch of Harry’s skin, every inch of Harry’s human body, perhaps to convince himself that Harry was human, had always been, would always be.

“Are you okay, Lou? You’re crying.”

“I’m fine, baby. Just needed to hold you.”

Harry accepted this explanation, and they lay together well into the afternoon.

*

Louis couldn’t sleep that night. He silently slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. As he watched the steam rise in curls off his cup, he knew what he had to do. He sat on the couch and plotted while his ribs shook with nervous tremors.

She would have kept it near her, obviously. It would be in her house, but not in a place where Harry could have stumbled on it by accident. It wouldn’t be in her bedroom or any other amply used room. It wouldn’t be loose, but packaged somehow, so that even if someone came upon it, nothing would seem suspicious. 

He mentally calculated the spare rooms in Taylor’s residence; there were far too many options for him to simply break in and search. He needed a more succinct plan.

As dawn broke through the window, he hit on a brilliant idea. 

 

Sneaking through the streets as the ally cats wandered back to their beds, Louis felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He desperately didn’t want to do this. He desperately hoped he would be proven wrong. 

Only Taylor’s kitchen glowed with light, and through the paned glass Louis could see her in her fluffy white robe, pouring her tea. Taking a deep breath he hoisted himself over the garden wall, crawling across the grass to the low-lying parlour window that, fortunately, had been left cracked open. Louis wedged it up far enough to crawl through, nearly knocking a vase off a side table as he slid over the sill. 

Heart pounding, he stood slowly and searched the ceiling until he found what he needed. His hands shook as he removed the lighter from his pocket and held the flame up to the alarm. He waited.

Five seconds later the whole house echoed with blaring beeps. He tucked himself against the wall and watched as Taylor dashed from the kitchen towards the spare room on the first floor. The alarm, no longer detecting flames, ceased beeping, and Louis observed a relieved and flustered Taylor walk back to the kitchen, staring confusedly up at her smoke alarm, her hands clutching her heart. 

Louis didn’t waste another second. He slipped into the hallway and down to the spare room, careful to not bump any of the myriad pictures affixed to the wall. Sparsely decorated, the room contained only a queen-sized bed and, at its foot, a wooden chest. Louis could smell the cedar lingering still and knew the chest had just been opened. He bent to inspect it and found a small keyhole, something he’d come prepared for. Twenty years of jimmying pianos had its perks, such as being able to use hairpins in tight spaces. He worked at the lock for less than a minute before being rewarded with a soft click. 

Pressing his thumb into the button, Louis lifted the lid. A large black garment bag loomed up at him, zipped and sealed with tap. 

Louis tasted the air in his mouth turn to ash. He lifted the bag from its berth and gently closed the lid, hating his very existence. He peeked out from the doorway, checking that all remained clear. Louis backtracked down the hallway to the parlour’s open window, the bag hanging heavily in his arms. 

He crawled through first, tugging the bag behind him, then wiggled the window back down to its previous position. He checked that the streets were still empty and climbed back over the wall. He felt no need to run or hurry away; no potential witness would see anything other than a man carrying a garment bag, after all. Louis took his time walking through the little town, perhaps even stalling a bit as he neared his flat. He wished he could pause time, or perhaps just stop it altogether, forever. 

As he slipped in the door he could hear Harry snoring peacefully from the bedroom. For one terrible moment, Louis thought of the safe he kept in the back of his closet and of the combination lock only he knew. He thought of how he could keep kissing Harry so he’d never remember. 

This thought passed in a moment though, and with its own shame. Louis hung the bag on the entranceway coat rack before creeping to his room and crawling back in bed next to his lover one last time. 

Louis watched him wake up, watched Harry flutter his eyelids and scratch his nose and lick his night-chapped lips, and he memorized everything. Louis smiled at him as Harry picked out his clothes, standing naked by the dresser, his shoulders so broad and strong in the morning sun, his fevered haze suddenly lifted. Louis laughed as Harry fussed over their breakfast, insisting that Louis at least _try_ a poached egg before declaring it horrible. Louis complied. 

Louis teared up as Harry made their tea, as church bells wafted into the apartment from the open window. Louis stayed silent as Harry cornered him by the bookshelf and kissed him, whispering, “I don’t care if I forget.”

Louis twined his legs with Harry as they lazily sat on the couch, a Debussy score shared between them, the music playing softly in the background as Harry flipped pages. Louis stared, mesmerized, when Harry eventually switched the music to Queen and began dancing around the living room using his tea-cup as a microphone. 

Louis snorted as Harry tried unsuccessfully to open a jar of olives, eventually handing it to Louis. Louis stole glance after glace as they ate a quick meal over the hum of the Sunday evening news. Louis didn’t sleep as they curled up on the couch, covered by the brown blanket, but instead watched Harry breathe in and out, watched how his eyes roved in his dreams, how his lips parted and closed, how his hands grasped at Louis’s shirt subconsciously. 

Finally, as the sun sank low on the horizon and Louis could hear the tourist crowds departing for home, he knew the time had come. 

“Hazza? Love, wake up.” He kissed Harry’s forehead. “We’re going for a walk.” 

“Huh?” Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his face slightly puffy.

“Come on, love.” Louis ran his fingers through Harry’s curls, marvelling at the way they felt against his skin, sealing it into his memory.

“Right now, Lou?”

“The fresh air will do us good. And we can see the sunset.” 

It had to be now. Louis didn’t trust his resolve to last one more minute.

“Okay,” Harry said, rolling slowly off the sofa, the brown blanket falling from around him. 

Louis hefted the bag over his shoulder, but Harry didn’t seem to take much notice. He took Harry’s hand and departed. They made it out the door and down the stairs of the pub before Louis felt tears blind him.

“Lou! Are you okay? What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Harry looked down at him, his earnest eyes filled with worry.

“It’s just the sea spray, Harry, just the salt. Come on, we’ll miss the sunset.” 

They walked in silence and Louis thought this for the best because his throat had filled with needles. Louis steered them towards the sea. 

“We’re going to the ocean?” Harry asked, worry tainting his tone.

“Remember the first time you heard the Debussy, Harry?” Louis barely recognized the rasp of his own voice.

“Of course.” 

“Remember how you knew what waves looked like?”

Harry paused, then nodded.

“You did remember, Harry, all that time, you remembered in your own way, and I was too thick to see it.” 

Louis’ legs tried to refuse forward motion, but he forced them on as they left the pier’s walkway for the rocky beach. Harry held his hand tightly as the waves approached them. 

“I’m scared, Lou,” he whispered.

“You won’t be soon, my love,” Louis said, tears now falling quickly down his cheeks. Harry starred at him in confusion, not sure what to say or do. 

Louis checked around them; the rugged beach lay deserted as usual. The nearly-set sun bathed everything in golden light. Louis set the bag down and steadied his hands, first tugging down Harry’s trousers and pants, then pulling his shirt over his curly-haired head. He lifted Harry’s legs one by one and removed his socks and shoes. 

Harry actually giggled. “Are you trying to take me skinny dipping, Lou?”

“No, Hazza, not this time.” He smiled at Harry somehow, even though his face felt numb and his limbs seemed made of iron. 

He brushed one shaky hand along Harry’s jaw and cupped his cheek, taking in his lover’s stunning beauty once more. 

“Can I kiss you, Haz?”

Harry stared blankly at him. “Y—yes, of course Louis, but please stop crying. Why are you crying?”

Louis pulled him down and kissed him, knotting his fingers in his hair, against his neck, pressing his chest to Harry’s bare skin, memorizing how he tasted, how he felt, how he moved against Louis’ tongue. The sun hung halfway below the ocean when he pulled back, and letting go felt like drowning. 

Harry had begun to cry too, though he didn’t know why. 

“Lou, why did you kiss me like that?” Harry grasped at his sleeve. “It was different.” 

Louis wiped his eyes as he retrieved the bag. “I was kissing you goodbye, Harry.” 

Harry stared at him, mouth slack, eyes trying to understand. Louis continued.

“I figured it out, Hazza, what you can’t remember. I know why you love the sea but can never touch it, why you take off all your clothes and wrap yourself in my brown blanket. You’re a selkie, love, and you’ve forgotten. But I found your skin. Taylor had it locked away from you, probably stole it whenever you hit your head. She lied to you, Harry, for years, because she wanted you for her own. She doesn’t get to hold you captive anymore, though.” 

Louis unzipped the bag and reached in, his fingers clasping around the softest substance he’d ever touched. He pulled out what looked like an irregular-edged fur blanket, shiny and terribly heavy and smelling of sea and salt and sun. 

“This is yours, Harry. You’re free.” 

Louis held the skin out to him and for a moment nothing happened, Harry just looked into his eyes, confused. Then, slowly, Louis saw his green irises darken, and Harry started breathing rapidly, his body shaking. He reached out and took the skin from Louis reverently, his eyes fixed on the soft brown fur, an energy pouring from him that Louis had never felt before. 

Without a backwards glance, Harry turned and ran towards the ocean, flinging the skin around him, howling his seal call into the wind. As his feet hit the waves, Louis saw the dark brown coat melding onto him, swallowing him whole as he disappeared into the surf. 

In a moment, Harry was gone. 

Louis stood there in the fading sun, just him and the empty bag. For a while he did nothing, barely breathing. Eventually he felt the rip he knew would come. As his heart shattered inside his body he fell to his hands and knees and wailed into the ground, crying until his voice went and his skin bled from the sharp rocks. He cried until the moon came out and the chilled wind changed to a warm breeze. He cried until he could feel the dawn creeping up behind him. 

At some point, he picked himself up and went home, barely making it up his stairs to the couch. He wrapped himself in the brown blanket and tried to forget.

 

Epilogue

Louis saw her for the first time at the school board meeting. He didn’t meet her gaze, nor did she seek to find his. The second time occured at the town hall banquet, which both she and Louis were attending alone. She cornered him by the punch bowl.

“You did what I couldn’t. I don’t hate you for it. You seem to have taken it better than I did,” she said, her thin fingers tensely crumbling a clutched biscuit. 

“Is that a compliment?” Louis snapped, side eyeing her.

“It’s just an observation. When you took him from me, I nearly died. I was expecting much the same from you since you ‘loved’ him so truly.” 

Louis glared at her and walked away, setting the template for their interactions. Though he despised her with every ounce of his being, she alone proved that Harry had been real, that he had once existed, had once been loved by Louis. 

Louis told Niall, Liam, and Zayn the whole story of course, but only Zayn believed him, Liam and Niall preferring to think the tale simply Louis’ way of dealing with getting dumped (Niall even went so far as to suggest Harry had run away). But Zayn, ever able to know what Louis needed to hear, said to him one night, “You should go visit him sometime. Just go out there and talk to him. It might help. Even if he never hears you.” 

So Louis did. He started walking along the beach every sunset, talking through his day and telling the waves of his troubles and his loves and his wishes. Sometimes he would hear a soft howl and think Harry could understand him; other times he convinced himself he'd heard only the wind. 

Summer turned into early fall and Louis felt only a little less raw. Niall invited a man named Aiden to work at the pub for a while, clearly intent to set Louis up and help him forget Harry. It didn’t exactly work out. 

Even Louis’ students tried to cheer him up, doing their level best in every class, bringing him bunches of wildflowers and sometimes even the occasional plate of cookies. Sadly, their efforts were to no avail. 

Fall passed into early winter, and winter to spring, and soon it had been a year since Harry’s departure, and Louis felt every day of it. Taylor had resigned and left for London, presumably to try her hand at performing again. Zayn and Liam had made the move to Miami permanently. Niall alone remained of Louis’ close friends, and even the chipper Irishman had plans to marry a girl he’d met on holiday in Oxford. Louis felt terribly alone, and were it not for the sea air and his students and the memory of Harry… well. He often wondered if he should leave and get on with trying to find happiness again somewhere else.

It was with this mindset that Louis walked the shoreline on the year anniversary of Harry’s departure. He spoke to Harry like he did every day, telling him of school and about which musical work he’d been teaching. He talked to the waves until the sun blinked out behind the horizon. If he’d been expecting magic, he shouldn’t have been. Only the gulls responded to his stories. 

Sad, but no more so than usual, Louis returned to his apartment above Niall’s pub, smiling at the happy people coming in and out the door, drunk on love or boos or both, and he envied them all of it. 

He flicked the lights on and closed his door, not feeling sane enough to face the prospect of another lonely weekend without first collapsing on the couch. He pulled the brown blanket around him, smelling the heavy scent of Harry still, inhaling it like medicine to his soul.

But Harry’s scent had left the blanket months ago. And the blanket wasn’t so thick as the soft thing Louis held around him. And the blanket didn’t have curved, unusual edges. And the blanket didn’t feel like fur. And the blanket wasn’t slightly wet. 

Louis pulled the heavy warmth from around him and looked down at the glossy skin in his hands. 

“Harry…” Louis felt his throat constrict and his chest tighten. He raised his eyes just in time to see—stumbling on unsteady legs from out the washroom—Harry walking towards him, naked and golden and slick with sea water still, his hair hanging long past his shoulders in a tangled curly mass, both his dimples popping evenly. 

Louis ran to him. How long they kissed and embraced and held each other, Louis didn’t know. Finally Harry spoke, and his voice sounded deeper somehow, more layered and rich. 

“I wasn’t happy in paradise, Lou. You weren’t there.” 

Louis began surfacing from the depths of his despair. “Harry, Harry…” He couldn’t help but repeat his name over and over, marvelling at his very existence.

“I’m staying here with you.” Harry pulled back, looking tentatively into Louis’ eyes. “I’ll visit the ocean but… I want this. I want us. You’re my home, Lou. Do you… do you still want me?” Harry asked, his bright green eyes mostly black pupil.

“You idiot, if I wanted you any more I’d be dead from it.” Louis felt tears oozing from his eyes as he cupped Harry’s jaw and ran his thumbs over his cheekbones. 

“You won’t mind a Selkie husband?” Harry asked, grinning stupidly.

“Is that a proposal?” 

“Only if we can have shrimp at the wedding, I forgot how much I loved those little shits.” 

Louis reached up and touched his lips to Harry’s, his heart soaring, his head spinning with complete, absolute happiness. 

“Baby, you came back to me,” Louis whispered, in awe of his reality, aware of how very alive Harry felt now, and understanding of just how much a wraith he’d been before. 

“I will always come home to you.” 

Harry stared at him a moment before pulling off Louis’ shirt and tugging down his pants and trousers. Louis stepped out of them a bit dazed, feeling pale and small compared to Harry, who stood before him tan and sinewy and full of inhuman glory.

Harry pressed against him, their bodies slotting together exactly.

“In this skin I can be yours, Lou.” Harry rutted against him in tender, dewy motions.

Louis kissed the center of Harry’s chest, feeling Harry’s thrumming heartbeat, feeling the electric heat between their bodies, feeling his world blossom into a million wonderful futures. He looked up into Harry’s sea-green eyes and smiled. 

 

END


End file.
